Evolution Revolution
by Neuronerd
Summary: Sequel to "Out of the Darkness." The revolution has begun, but not everyone is fighting for the same thing. Rated M because it's war, folks!
1. Three Months Later

**A/N: Ok- I lied (sort of). I had no intention on writing a sequel, but the ending to "Out of the Darkness" was just begging to be explored. An impending revolution? How do you just leave it at that? **

**As I said, RL is crazy right now, so I'm not real sure about how often updates will be, but I will try my best. Of course reviews do tend to make me work faster…(nudge wink)..**

**Chapter 1- Three Months Later**

"_We have been travelling through a cloud. The sky has been dark ever since the war began."_

_Black Kettle_

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Sylar slumped against the brick wall next to the dumpster in the dark alley, the rough bricks digging trenches in his back as he slid down. Warm, sticky blood oozed between his fingers as he desperately clenched the gaping wound in his side and he panted from the pain as much as the effort it took to escape. His breath made a ghostly cloud in the cold early December air. This was not what he signed up for months ago in England.

Things seemed so different then. Nathan was certain that the resistance would be well funded and that a small army of properly motivated specials would be invincible against the masses that sought to subjugate them. He was right about the funding- there was no shortage of money, but the movement suffered from a severe lack of organization in his estimation. What should have been a united and coordinated attack on the establishment turned out to be chaotic splinter cells that never communicated, resulting in just as many losses as victories for a net gain of zero. If there was never a reason to fear and hate specials before, there certainly was now that they were fighting back. But lack of solid leadership was almost the least of their worries.

There was dissention within the ranks. There weren't too many specials to begin with, but even of those that existed too many of them held differing opinions on the best way to address the slave issue. Some favored winning the hearts and minds of those that made the laws while others simply chose not to take sides, leaving a precious few to do the actual fighting. Sylar himself was at heart one of the fence sitters- not really believing that the lawmakers could ever be reasoned with or that doing nothing would solve anything- so he chose to fight because it was the only option left.

During the past three months, the specials that didn't capitulate and remain in the chip program were hunted and either killed or hauled off to facilities to be used as lab rats in experiments. Sylar had been there and done that as it were, he had no desire to be chipped again and he sure as hell wasn't going to allow his body to be sliced and examined or used to test unknown formulations of drugs or viruses. Specials who did choose to run or fight huddled in abandoned sewers or the rubble of destroyed buildings in fear, cowering at every noise that resembled an ambush. It was a hard and miserable life. Many starved or died of disease or exposure because food and shelter were scare. Even sympathetic non-specials had to be careful about lending assistance even more than they had before. Canada was still a safe haven, but due to the massive influx of specials seeking asylum, the borders had been closed, effectively trapping those left behind the line to fend for themselves.

Regens such as himself, Peter, and Claire had it relatively easy since their bodies wouldn't become emaciated if they didn't eat and they would never succumb to disease or the elements. Others weren't so lucky and this wasn't lost on him. Although he never made a big deal of it, he hadn't actually had food for about a week and a half. Every time he came across any small luxury- be it a piece of fruit or some bread or even a blanket or warm clothing- he didn't go far before he found someone more needful than himself and he found himself giving the item to them, never giving his name and quickly moving on before they could recognize him. It wasn't that he felt an overwhelming sense of pity as Peter no doubt did, for him it was practical. The movement needed as many warm bodies as it could muster and he wouldn't die if he didn't eat. He would be hungry and feel a little weak, but he wouldn't die.

He felt as though he were dying then. He laid his head back and held his breath even though his lungs screamed for air. At the mouth of the alley he could hear the steady beat of boots on pavement echoing up the walls and he knew Nathan's men would be looking for him. No one just walked out of a federal detention center for specials and got away with it. Ok, truthfully he didn't exactly walk out, he more or less slaughtered his way out, but the task was made all the more difficult by the fact that his powers were almost non-existent. The government's solution to combat specials like himself that were unchipped was elegantly simple- coat all ammunition with Maria's suppressant and fire away until they landed a hit. It worked well to neutralize most specials, but not him and they knew this. They knew he could stop bullets in mid-air and he did an admirable job of it, but it seemed that anyone who could pull a trigger shot at him from all directions as he ran and he simply couldn't stop them all and a few got through his defenses.

He clutched his side harder in a futile effort to stem the flow of blood, but he was growing weak. The suppressant had taken away his ability to heal and he was starting to get dizzy. He needed help and there was only one person he could trust. He struggled to control his breathing as he fumbled through his pockets to find his lifeline. He fished out his cell phone, turned on the GPS function and hit send. He just hoped he wasn't too late. He knew that calling for backup was risky, but thanks to the mysterious Rebel, his cell phone was untraceable. He never had to call for help before, so he didn't know exactly what to expect. What he did know was that the shock troops were closing in and he didn't have much time left. If they caught him, they would kill him instantly- of that there was no question. He was simply too dangerous to allow to live.

His face had been plastered all over the country on TV and flyers posted on light poles and bus stops as public enemy #1 for his involvement in the revolution, making traveling especially tricky. The last few months had been consumed by hiding in the shadows and evading capture in order to continue his missions. He had single handedly brought down three holding facilities and freed the inhabitants with his numerous abilities, much to the chagrin of the establishment. That was, in fact, what he had been doing before his unfortunate accident. He had been shot before, but something was different this time.

The edges of his peripheral vision were getting fuzzy and he slowly closed his eyes. It was only his extraordinary will to survive and his innate sense of control that kept him lucid. He was growing colder and he didn't know if it was from being outside or if it was from blood loss. He was forced to shed his coat during his escape and he was starting to regret his decision. He jumped slightly when he felt a warm hand lightly touch his shoulder. "Hey," Peter greeted with a concerned expression on his face while he crouched down next to him, "I got your message." He glanced up at the sound of approaching voices and he looked back at Sylar's hazy eyes. They had both been there before in what seemed like a lifetime ago after he and the others rescued him from Jessup's barn. So much had changed since then for both of them it hardly seemed real when he thought about it.

Peter, predictably, had been on the side of diplomacy when it came to resolving the slave issue. Initially he refused to fight, believing that it was all a grand misunderstanding that could be rectified with enough persistence and education. As time passed and things got worse between the haves and have not's, he could no longer remain neutral if not for himself, then for those he cared most about: Nathan and Claire. Publicly, Nathan seemed to be spearheading the capture and detainment effort of the government, but Peter knew the truth. Like Maria, what he said and what he did were polar opposites and he put himself at extreme risk of being found out. Claire, however ill prepared or naive she may have been, admirably chose to put herself in harm's way and he worried about her constantly. In the end although he was what most would consider a conscientious objector who refused to pick up a gun and fight himself, he saw no moral ambiguity in being what amounted to a field medic to treat the wounds of the soldiers on the front lines. Sylar needed his help and he came- it was just as simple as that. All past feuds and alliances or betrayals were long since forgotten or set aside for the greater good of the cause.

"I didn't think you would come." Sylar admitted, his head lolling toward Peter. His voice had a slurred, slight dreamy like quality that was worrisome.

He gave him a soft, reassuring smile. "I wouldn't throw you to the wolves like that. You're too valuable."

"Thanks." Sylar weakly smiled. Even though he was nearly unconscious, his sarcasm was still clearly intact and that was encouraging.

"C'mon." Peter frowned as he picked up the cell phone that slipped from Sylar's grasp. Were it not for the GPS signal, he wouldn't have known where to teleport to. "Let's get you out of here." With that, he closed his eyes and thought of a safe place.

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Nathan sat in his office with his head in his hands. He was exhausted and his head ached just as it had almost every day since the first day of the revolution. It may have been his idea, but for obvious reasons he had to distance himself from the day-to-day operations. If being caught meeting with specials was political suicide, being discovered as the revolution's leader and conducting secret negotiations with European heads of state would be actual suicide since it would clearly be an act of treason _and_ sedition- by a popular sitting US senator no less. He sighed and fought the swell of nausea that had been his only company for all that time. He would have taken aspirin to ease the pounding in his head, but he had eaten an entire bottle in the last week alone and he was convinced he was developing a stomach ulcer. His hair was turning gray from the stress as well, although his staff members swore they didn't notice. He knew they were just kissing his ass and flattery would get them nowhere. It may have worked at one time, but he was way beyond that now.

"Sir?" A timid young man poked his head in the door.

"What is it, Montgomery?" Nathan mumbled into his desk, never bothering to look up at his youngest intern. His head hurt enough as it was- he didn't want to deal with a socially awkward undergrad as well. He only took him on as a favor to Maria and he was starting to regret it.

Damian Montgomery was the middle of five children from an Irish working class neighborhood in Brooklyn. Always seemingly lost in the shuffle, he was a quiet and painfully shy kid and remained so even in college. He was technically smart, no one would argue that, but he definitely lacked the savoir faire required for a career in politics. He was too self-conscious and easily intimidated for anything other than gopher work and it was a shame: the kid was a whiz at strategy and his unassuming nature was valuable in winning people over. If he wasn't so geeky with his thick framed glasses, he could have parlayed his dark naturally good looks into a power of persuasion- especially with the ladies. Behind his button down exterior was a trim yet slightly muscular frame and a boyish charm that women found appealing. Nathan had overheard too many stray conversations in the Senate lounge to think otherwise, but the kid just didn't seem to get it and he wasn't about to have that conversation with him- you just didn't know what counted as sexual harassment these days.

Damian cautiously entered the room as though he were about to have an audience with Emperor Palpatine. His boss had been in a dour mood lately and he considered himself lucky to have landed a job in the office of the most popular if not powerful senator in Congress. He swallowed and nervously rolled the papers in his hands into a tube. "I um…I ran into Senator McCaskey in the commissary downstairs and he asked me if you knew about the detainment facility in Midtown Manhattan."

Nathan let out a longsuffering sigh. McCaskey was a bitter old man who happened to be the head of the Homeland Security Council. Nathan's specials project was a part of the department, but separate from his budget and therefore none of his concern. Despite this, McCaskey still felt as though Nathan answered to him and he had no business sharing potentially top secret information with his intern in line in a goddamn cafeteria. As if fostering the rebellion wasn't stressful enough, he was constantly engaged in political warfare with his own colleagues. It was no secret McCaskey hated him and held the specials project in contempt. He had been the strongest, most outspoken proponent of complete eradication of specials, and although it took considerable effort and weeks of debate and deal making, the registration and chip project won the day, but he never forgot it. "I know of its existence." He reluctantly admitted.

"He gave me this report to give to you." He shrugged, holding out the papers like a scroll even though his boss had yet to even glance up at him.

"What does it say?" Nathan asked irritated. Part of an intern's job was to read reports and give members of Congress the cliff's notes version. No politician ever read bills themselves, they didn't have time and that's what interns were for- among other mundane and soul crushing tasks.

Damian, perhaps knowing this was going to be the outcome, had already perused it ahead of time. "It says that the Midtown facility was attacked at 11:10 this morning by the rebellion. The building sustained heavy damage and several guards were lost, but the inmates remained secure." He stopped to clear his throat and he lowered his voice. "Surveillance indicates it might have been Sylar, Sir." He felt a little slighted that his presence wasn't enough to even acknowledge, but mention Sylar and suddenly Nathan was all ears.

"Did they get him on camera?" He asked, trying not to sound too nervous.

"Not exactly, Sir. There are some photos of a tall man wearing dark clothing with short, dark hair, but the cameras were destroyed by electricity before they could capture images of his face. Given the description and the pattern of attack, it would fit Sylar's M.O."

Nathan sat back in his chair relieved. He needed Sylar to remain as anonymous as possible to keep up the good work, and usually he succeeded. Something went terribly wrong this time. "But unlike the other three facilities, he didn't free the prisoners. Why?"

"It seems he didn't have a chance to. The S2 ammunition we were testing seems to have worked. There were reports that he was injured and he didn't regenerate immediately, but he managed to escape anyway. So far he hasn't been located, but he did leave a good amount of blood at the scene. Senator McCaskey wants it analyzed by the FBI lab at Quantico to see if there is any way we can develop something…" he bit his lip and paused before quietly continuing, "…more lethal."

"Because if we can take him down, we can kill them all." Nathan nearly growled. He felt no particular allegiance to Sylar, but if McCaskey was successful in developing a drug so powerful that it could kill Sylar, what did the future hold for Peter or Claire or anyone else?

They were interrupted by a knock at the door and were greeted by a gaggle of his fellow interns from different offices, all smiling and laughing. "Goodnight, Sir. See you next week!" Kelley smiled. Kelly was Damian's office mate and a bright and very well connected political science major at NYU. She was popular and she had a bright future ahead of her.

Nathan reflexively smiled. It wasn't just because she was another pretty face, but she showed great promise as a potential future politician, very much unlike Damian. "Is it Friday already?" He asked chuckling. "Got any big plans?"

"We are all going out for drinks to unwind." She nodded along with the others. "That reminds me. Damian, would you be a sweet peach and finish the summary for the appropriations bill? It's due first thing Monday." Damian blanched and started to protest, but she cut him short with a chirpy, "Thanks. You're such a team player. See you Monday!"

Nathan sat at his desk with a half smile creeping across his lips. She certainly was getting the hang of delegation and suave. His smile faltered when he noted the hurt in Damian's large blue eyes as he stood defeated, blinking owlishly behind his glasses. The appropriations bill was hundreds of pages of boring legalese that required close attention to spot the loopholes that had inevitably been added. They had to be caught least he end up looking like he supported a provision that had been slipped in calling for the wholesale clubbing of baby seals in Antarctica when he was simply voting to allocate funds to build playgrounds or fund social programs. He felt sort of bad for the kid because he didn't have the courage to stand up for himself and say no. He reminded him of Peter in a way- he knew that like a loyal and dependable co-worker he would put aside whatever plans he had to do something he didn't want to just to keep the peace. If his job was to be a mentor for future politicians, this was a teachable moment if there ever was one. "So what are you going to do?" He asked casually.

"Well, I said I would…" He started miserably as he gestured toward the door.

"No you didn't." Nathan cut him off. "One of the first things you learn in this business is that no agreement is really an agreement unless it's in writing or someone witnesses it. You didn't sign a contract and I didn't hear you tell her you would do anything." He shook his head and smiled. "You didn't even nod your head, you just stood there and let her dictate to you. That's no way to get through life, Damian. You have to look out for yourself." He folded his hands behind his head and asked again. "So what are you going to do?"

He looked vaguely uncomfortable with being a jerk. If he was going to make it in politics, he would have to get real comfortable with that, Nathan thought to himself. "But if I don't stay late to get it done, she'll get in trouble." He reasoned.

Nathan shrugged. "It was her assignment. If she walked out and didn't finish it, that's her problem- not yours. Each decision comes with a consequence. Now man up and go join them for drinks." He ordered.

"I…" he stammered somewhat embarrassed and hurt, "I…um….I wasn't exactly invited, Sir." In a quieter, almost shameful tone he added, "I never am."

Being excluded clearly bothered him and something in Nathan's heart felt for the kid. Peter may not have been the life of the party or the one with the lampshade on his head at the end of the night, but his friendly, outgoing personality made him exceedingly sociable. Still, he couldn't help but think that Peter would be the one to strike up a conversation with Montgomery at a party just to make him feel comfortable if he noticed him being shunned by the rest of the group and he felt compelled to do the same. "Grab your coat." He sighed as he stood up to retrieve his own off the back of his chair. "You and I are going out."

"Sir?" Damian asked, his eyes wide with surprise and perhaps trepidation. There was a clear delineation between the senators and the lowly interns and never the twain met- except for a few cases where some "extra assignments" took place in dark closets or after hours in the offices. He hoped this wasn't the case. He knew that Senator Petrelli was once married, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. It could have been a carefully crafted cover to appeal to a wider vote. It wouldn't be the first time it had been done. Sometimes politicians had to hide their differences from the public because the populace just wasn't ready for unconventional representatives. He didn't suspect his boss was hiding anything, but one could never be sure.

Reluctantly, he gathered his things and followed him to his government-issued car still feeling a little guilty about not doing the summary as he implied he would and a little anxious about the retribution he may face from Kelly come Monday morning, but for him this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. This was as close to power as he had ever come and he craved the attention. Finally, his hard work might get recognized…

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Noah looked out the window of his small, cramped apartment and watched the first flakes of winter fall softly to the ground. He got home early that day, and he had no particular plans for the weekend- he never did and the loneliness ate at him. He remembered happier times when he lived with Sandra and Claire in Texas and California, places were snow was just a concept or a picture on a Christmas card. Somehow he had lost them both even though he tried his hardest to protect them and keep the family together.

He hadn't spoken directly to Claire since she left Maria's, but he did get updates through the grapevine and it saddened him that his Claire Bear had joined the revolution, but he couldn't say it surprised him in the least. She always had been a fighter, convinced that she was meant for something greater than a life less ordinary even though she often insisted that all she wanted was to be normal- whatever that meant. He wished she could have had that life and he tried to give it to her, but she was her own woman now and he couldn't protect her forever even if he wanted to.

It wasn't meant to be that way. He wasn't supposed to get so close to her and he really didn't expect to end up loving her with a fierce devotion that compelled him to save her at risk of losing his own life, but that's what happened. He knew her ability meant that she was more or less immortal and thanks to Sylar, she wouldn't even feel the pain of being wounded in battle, but it didn't make it any easier for him to bear. During his years at the Company and now with the government, he had been party to too many injustices to recall and he knew that being exposed to that kind of brutality as a way of life had mental consequences that would forever alter her just as it did him.

How did it come to be that when Sylar was first captured, he could so callously order tests to be run until he could no longer physically bear the strain and then demand he be revived time and again so they could continue with their experiments until he could no longer be resuscitated? At the time he felt nothing for Sylar except contempt. He wasn't at all moved when he stood at the window and watched him grow more pale and sickly every day, the pain of all he had endured etched clearly in his haunted, hollow eyes as he lay in an exhausted heap on the table in the center of the room, lacking the energy to move for hours at a time. Noah still hated Sylar for all he had done, but he often wondered if he didn't have a hand in making Sylar what he was. If he'd shown some compassion, especially in the early days when he was still trying to find direction after he discovered his ability, would he have become a different person?

He could hardly believe it when he heard Sylar had also joined the resistance. He had never known the killer to be so active in a cause unless it coincided with his own agenda, which he could only guess was the case. At work, it was the topic du jur around the water cooler. Sylar had almost achieved anti-hero status among the very agents that were tasked with apprehending him. He was the villain people loved to hate- he was the enemy yet he enjoyed a cult status for his mercenary nature and Noah tried not to get caught up in the conversations. He just knew too much about him to defend his reputation or pretend not to know as much as he actually did. To think that his precious Claire was hiding in a foxhole somewhere with the likes of him set his teeth on edge. The fact that Peter was also involved gave him some measure of reassurance, he knew he would watch over her as much as he could and that was the only thing that allowed him to sleep at night.

Every war needed a supply line and that was his role in the revolution. Along with Nathan, Maria, Rebel, and others like them, the foot soldiers were fed information and supplied with resources as basic as food and safe shelters scattered across the country they could go to if they were in trouble. Teleporters like Hiro made for timely getaways and made excellent couriers while academics like Mohinder worked behind the scenes on the ever escalating arms race of biotech. Everyone had a part to play, but some were more visible than others and he secretly hoped that their planning and persistence would pay off soon. If things continued to drag on as they had been, it was only a matter of time before the government mobilized and crushed them all in one sweep.


	2. A Hard Lesson

**Chapter 2- A Hard Lesson**

"_War does not determine who is right - only who is left."_

_-Bertrand Russell  
><em>

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"You are old enough to drink, right?" Nathan asked as he tossed the keys to the valet at one of the finest, and therefore most expensive, steakhouses in the city.

"Yes, Sir." Damien smiled coyly. "I'm 24." Sometimes he wondered if his boss ever read his resume before hiring him. It took nearly two weeks for him to get his name right. Of course he remembered Kelly's the first time he met her...

"24? Jesus," he laughed as he nodded in greeting to the hostess who welcomed him by name, "you guys just keep getting younger every year." They were immediately ushered to a table, stopping occasionally along the way for him to greet colleagues or the city's power players.

"Good evening, Senator Petrelli." The waiter bowed. "It's always a pleasure when you join us. Will you be enjoying the usual tonight?"

"Sure." He shrugged, seeming to not really care one way or the other.

"Very good, Sir." The waiter smiled before turning his attention to Damien. "And for you, Sir?"

Damien was too busy taking in the opulent scenery around him. As an intern, he dared not even step foot into such an establishment. For one, he could never afford it and he was certain he wouldn't be welcomed by the powerful and politically connected patrons. Even as a guest of his boss, he still felt painfully out of place. "Oh….I..um…" He stammered quickly turning his attention to his menu and quickly scanning it for something that looked appealing but wasn't too expensive, but the place was so upscale that the prices weren't printed. His father always used to say that if you had to ask how much something cost, you probably couldn't afford it anyway and he was at a complete loss.

Nathan watched him struggle and he chuckled. "Just give him what I'm getting. We'll start with two Couvoisiers." He glanced at his companion. "Cognac good with you?" Damien nodded numbly. He'd never had it before, but he was willing to try. After the waiter took leave, Nathan gave a congenial smile and asked, "So, 24, huh? That makes you, what…a senior?"

In that moment it became clear that he had never read his resume. "No, Sir," he smiled politely, "I'm a sophomore. I took a few years off after high school."

Nathan looked confused. "Doing what?" His tone was almost incredulous. In his world, everyone followed the same path that created the shortest point from A to B and that meant going straight from high school through college and graduate school if required without stopping to take a breath. It's what his father did, it's what he did, and it's what Peter….well, never mind what Peter did.

"Working." He answered simply. Suddenly it felt like he was interviewing for his job and he was worried that even after he had done good work his boss seemed disappointed or felt he was inadequate. Sensing that the line of questioning wasn't going to stop, he elaborated. "I wanted to go to college, but my family couldn't help me pay for my tuition. So, I got a job and saved up as much money as I could to pay for it."

"What did you do for work?" He asked genuinely intrigued. The kid had moxy, that was for sure.

"I had a few jobs, actually." He mumbled somewhat uncomfortably. "During the day I worked on a construction crew paving roads and at night I was a lab tech in the morgue." His blue eyes fell to the table as though he were embarrassed, but he quickly moved on. "And I'm pretty good with computers, so I would take on jobs on the side as well."

Nathan couldn't help but be impressed by his quiet ambition. "When did you sleep?" He laughed as he took a sip of his drink.

"Whenever I could." Damien shyly smiled. "But you do what you have to, right?"

"I guess." He conceded with a grin. "So how did you know Maria Siegel again? She recommended you for the job, you know."

Suddenly, Damien stiffened and his eyes widened slightly behind his glasses. He knew Maria very well. His father was a 'friend' although they didn't own slaves themselves, but he debated if he should lie to his boss about it. He didn't want to get her or his father into trouble with the head of the specials program. "She's….um…she was my neighbor once, before we moved to New York." He answered. "But I barely know her."

Nathan slyly looked around and leaned halfway across the table to smirk. In a low voice, he almost whispered, "Relax. I know all about it."

"You do?" He asked amazed. "But I thought you…"

Nathan held up his hand to silence him. "Another thing you learn in the business is that sometimes your enemies can make valuable allies and it can be mutually beneficial for you to look the other way. Political capital in the form of favors from the right people can make or break you. The hard part is knowing who will pay up when the time comes and who is worth the investment."

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When Sylar woke up, the first thing he noticed was the glaringly bright lights above him. Although most light was white and therefore nondescript, there was a certain sense of familiarity with the blinding luminescence that kept him from fully opening his eyes for several minutes as they struggled to adjust.

"Welcome back." Came Peter's voice. Sylar turned his head in the direction of the sound and squinted to see the former paramedic seated next to him looking exhausted as though he hadn't slept for days. "I was starting to wonder if you'd ever wake up."

Even though the light hurt his eyes, he glanced around at the cabinets and chemistry equipment and it all started to fall into place. "Are we at Maria's?" He asked although he already knew the answer.

"Yeah," Peter yawned as he stretched, "it was the safest place I could think of to bring you."

He was back on her lab table, but this time efforts had been made to make him minimally comfortable- he had been provided with a pillow and covered with a warm blanket. One wouldn't think of a stainless steel table as plush, but it was the most comfortable he had been in months. It was amazing how low his standards had become since living life on the run and sleeping on broken concrete or in cramped spaces. "Does she know I'm here?" He asked apprehensively. He never thought he would see her again and he was a little anxious given how they parted ways.

Peter grinned and gave a small nod while he glanced towards the stairs. Sylar turned his head to see his former owner at his side, smiling warmly down at him. If she held any animosity toward him, she didn't show it as she gently smoothed the blanket that covered him and asked, "How are you feeling, Gabriel?"

He was Sylar now, but he didn't correct her. Even if he knew the difference, it could be confusing to others so he just let it go. He paused before answering because he actually had to think about it. His side still hurt and he didn't have that familiar feeling of invincibility. His eyes widened when he realized what was probably already obvious to them. "Why are my powers gone?" He asked in a dangerously low, almost panicked tone.

"They're not gone." Peter interjected before things got out of hand. "You still have them." He glanced nervously at Maria and added, "They're just not as strong as they used to be."

"Why?" He demanded, his eyes burning with fury. "What did you do…" He tried to sit up, but the pain from his wound stopped him and he gasped in shock.

Maria gently placed her hands on his shoulders to ease him back down on the table. "Be careful, Gabriel. Peter worked a long time on your wound and it is healing, but it will take time."

"What happened to me?" He nearly pleaded through the burning agony that tore at him.

Peter scooted a little closer with a sigh, but there was nothing but calm compassion in his tired eyes. "You were shot on your mission and you called me, so I came and got you."

"I know that!" He impatiently growled in frustration. "Why can't you just give me what you did before to give me my powers back?"

"We did." He patiently explained. "We gave you two doses and that's the only reason you're healing at all."

"I'm afraid you're the first victim of the new experimental formula of the suppressant. S2 they call it." Maria quietly stated with some measure of guilt. "The government mixed a stronger compound just for people like you." She noted the seething anger in his dark eyes and she shook her head and took a step back. Even with his powers at a fraction of what they once were, he was still incredibly dangerous and potentially deadly. His eyes were not as cold as they were the last time she saw him; they were somewhat softer, but just under the surface the darkness lurked, ready to spring like an animal. "I had nothing to do with it, but I heard about the project from Noah and he even managed to slip us a small sample. Mohinder and I have been working to develop a countermeasure. The old serum still works, but only partially. You are healing faster than normal, but slower than what you are used to. You can stay here until you are well enough to go on with your business." Unlike the first time she took him in, she knew very well what business he was in but she thought it best be left unspoken. Every time she looked out her balcony and saw the charred black hole in the forest where the Jessups used to live, she got chills.

He regarded her with a clear sense of resigned irritation. What choice did he have? There were few places in the country where he could truly feel safe enough to fall asleep for any length of time and a proper meal did sound inviting, even if it was prepared by Mohinder. He made up his mind to stay only as long as was absolutely necessary and then he would move on. His presence only put her in danger and he got the impression that although she was once more extending her kindness to him, a part of her didn't really want him around. The feeling of rejection- be it subtle or outright hostile- was one he was used to receiving and on some level he understood it coming from her, but he still felt just a little saddened by it nonetheless.

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Luke had lost all sense of direction after the night he and West helped free Sylar. It wasn't that his personal hero failed to thank him for his efforts; he knew Sylar way to well to expect such an outward showing of gratitude, but although he wanted the Jessups to go down, he couldn't help but think that the way it was done was so very….calculated. It was as if he had spent days figuring out just how to kill them in ways loaded with as much suffering and symbolism as possible. Maybe people were right, maybe he was the boogeyman everyone thought he was. He told him he was just like his father, but even Samson would have raised his eyebrows at his progeny's handiwork. He sniffed miserably and huddled close to West in an effort to conserve body heat as the sun dipped below the horizon. Somewhere along the way he had also lost his scruples. War and famine will do that to a person.

For his part, West didn't even seem to notice. The usual customs of decorum had long since been abandoned for practical survival and every day was a struggle. If it meant cozying up to another man to keep from freezing to death, then so be it. The pair had traveled together since the first days of the rebellion when they vowed to do what they could to fight for their own freedom as well as that of their comrades. Word spread that Sylar himself had also joined and it did a great deal to bolster the confidence of the troops. With someone like him in their corner, how could they possibly lose? Despite all the news reports and flyers, no one ever actually witnessed him firsthand in action, but still the rumors said that he could win the war for them in no time. As the days and weeks passed and the suffering grew, people began to wonder if it was all just propaganda. Maybe he really wasn't out there somewhere taking on Nathan's men on their behalf. Maybe he just vanished the way he did that rainy night and left them all there to fend for themselves. No one really knew.

West didn't doubt that it was all a lie. For the brief time he was face to face with the notorious killer, it was clear that he didn't care about anyone but himself. He wouldn't have even used the term 'mercenary' to describe him because no amount of money could persuade him to fight for them so long as he had what he wanted: his powers. He turned his back on them all just as he did Luke and West hated him for it. He regretted ever helping him and if he had it all to do over again, he would have let him suffocate or bleed to death as he hung from his chains like he was initially inclined to do.

Luke softly snored as he leaned up against his travel companion. West glanced at him and smiled. He never told him how much he hated Sylar because 'I told you so' would seem petty and hollow given what they now faced, and anger took so much energy. He chose to hold on to the one little flicker of softly glowing hope that he held in his heart to one day find Claire again. He heard she too was out on the front lines doing her duty, but no one seemed to know exactly where she was. So they continued on, always keeping an eye out for food or shelter and even stooping low enough to scavenge off a dead animal carcass if the meat was still good. Beggars couldn't be choosers in this war, and there certainly were a lot of them.

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Hiro paced the floor of the abandoned loft with a tense expression on his face. He was nervous although he knew no one could have possibly followed him as he teleported unless they were physically touching him. The once cheerful man had become consumed by worry and mild paranoia about being found. He took his job seriously because it was very important work and he couldn't let his fellow fighters down. Safe houses were only safe so long as they were secret and the moment their cover was blown, the loft would forever be unusable.

"Would you stop?" Claire sighed wearily. "You're making me dizzy watching you go back and forth like a ping pong ball."

"Sorry." He muttered, although really he wasn't. "Are you sure you're ok?"

Claire looked down at her bloodied clothes. She never really got used to it even after all this time. She knew there would be no wounds beneath the now stiff fabric, but the fact that she never even felt it bothered her. In some ways Sylar did her a favor because she could continue on not knowing that she's been sliced to ribbons jumping through a plate glass window to save a fellow soldier, or she could act as a decoy for the hunting dogs the enemy used to track them because she never felt their hot breath on her calves as they sank their teeth in. He might have done her a small favor, but she still hated him for it. After she and Nathan met with him in the square in England, she never saw him again and she was glad for it. She knew of his work through the television reports as everyone did, but she still didn't trust him. Not completely.

On the few occasions that her path crossed Peter's, they exchanged stories about what the other had witnessed, but neither of them could bring themselves to share the worst of what they had experienced in the war. She knew he observed a lot of trauma and death even as he tried his best to save those that he could with what little he had. He knew she had participated in some risky and bloody battles with the enemy and done things that no girl her age should ever have to do, but they never spoke of those things. The conflict was ongoing and there would soon be too many horror stories to recount. She already felt much older than her years.

She often worked with Hiro on assignments and they made a great team, but she knew that deep down he missed Ando. Ando was like his brother, but the two had a difference of opinion when it came to taking sides. Hiro took it as his destiny to defend the honor of his own kind while Ando thought it best to remain neutral and let it all pass without interference. The last time the two had spoken was in Montreal when they parted ways in anger. Hiro never talked to her about it, but she knew he wondered what had become of his old friend. His was far from a unique story. During the rebellion, many lives on both sides were torn apart and relationships tested. Some survived, some didn't and in rare cases, new associations were made while all around them lives were lost.

Claire tried to make her life as simple as possible. Each day it was her goal to put more of the enemy's people in the ground than she witnessed her side die, but the task wasn't as easy as it seemed. She hardly recognized who she had become and it frightened her to think that she was starting to feel as numb to taking a life as she despised Sylar for.


	3. The Middle Path

**A/N: Welcome back mel and queenoftheoutlands and hello to Mrs. Eyre!**

**Chapter 3- The Middle Path**

"_If cooperation is a duty, I hold that non-cooperation also under certain conditions is equally a duty."__  
><em>_-Mohandas Gandhi_

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For the most part, Sylar slept like a dead man on Maria's table. Even he didn't realize how exhausted he had become living the life that he had been for so long. His sleep wasn't entirely peaceful, however. During his time on the run out in the field, he had become accustomed to a lifestyle of brief naps in lieu of actual rest because he couldn't stay in one place for too long. He learned his lesson about falling asleep around strangers back in Louisiana and the stakes were even higher now than they were then. Even with his regenerative ability, he felt as though he were sleepwalking through a haze of weariness most of the time, but now he actually felt safe enough to indulge in what should have been considered normal behavior. He knew Maria and Peter would keep watch over him or at least wake him up at the first sign of danger so he could defend himself. It was a sight better than being snuck up on and shot in his sleep, which was always a possibility but even more of a threat now that the government had a new weapon in the form of S2.

He mostly resided in a very deep, dreamless sleep- the kind coma patients probably experience and he needed it. But he had trained himself to wake at the slightest noise and it was a hard habit to break. Peter was right that Maria's lab was probably the safest place to be since it was a secured area of the house. Even if government agents did storm the property, it would buy him enough time to escape undetected, keeping Maria out of harm's way. It was for this reason he remained on her table rather than sleeping in a proper bed in the quarters even though it sounded downright heavenly. There were many new faces, and it was a sad but accurate fact that not even his fellow specials could always be trusted. He didn't know where they stood on the revolution and if there was even one government sympathizer or a person who was offered a big enough reward, he could be turned in. Even one who entirely agreed with the rebellion's agenda could be too overzealous to brag to others on the outside that he was there and that would be just as dangerous. For the time being, the scope of his entire world shrank to the dimensions of the lab and his world was a busy place.

The concept of a standard workweek had been tossed out long ago after Maria learned of the S2 project. She and Mohinder spent nearly every waking hour over test tubes and Petri dishes in a desperate race to discover an antidote. Sylar's presence had no impact on the maddening pace other than to render the table unusable as a workspace, but they had relinquished that territory to Peter long ago for use as a makeshift medical bay. Sylar was far from the first to occupy the space, and tragically, he wouldn't be the last. They had become accustomed to having wounded people at their backs as they worked and the sight of blood and misery numbed them to some extent, but it also motivated them to work harder to find a solution so the suffering could stop. In severe cases, they would drop their pipettes and stop shuffling though the piles of equations and diagrams to step in as impromptu nurses to help Peter. Some survived, most were scarred and maimed for life, and some took their final breath on the table where Sylar lay. But through it all, they kept working, splitting their time between finding a cure and manufacturing more of the original serum because something was better than nothing and it was still useful for the purpose of restoring powers to chipped specials- but the time was fast approaching when S2 would replace her original formulation in chips and she knew it.

Although they tried to work quietly, the soft tinkling of glassware or the shuffling of feet woke him up with a start. It was almost reflexive, and each time he had to will his heart to stop pounding in his chest and remind himself that he was safe before he could once again drift back to sleep. The descent was always the worst. It was in this in-between state of wakefulness and near total unconsciousness that he had the capacity to dream and good things never awaited him there. It was his own concentric, downward spiraling hell where he relived the horrors he had both experienced and perpetrated. There was a certain sense of numbness for him because although it provoked feelings of dread or anxiety, he viewed it all with a detached logic. It was traumatic, yes, but all in all necessary. He had to kill to gain his powers and he had to kill to win and survive. He wasn't sorry for any of it no more than a lion feels sorry for killing an antelope on the plains of Africa. It was evolution in action, but nature was not always kind or polite and having to relive it over and over was torture.

Mohinder would occasionally glance up from his microscope when he heard Sylar's muffled moans because he remembered what he witnessed before. He told him he wouldn't help anymore, but Peter was slow to act in his estimation and he didn't see the bother in striding over to the sleeping man and giving him a shove or two to wake him if he was having a nightmare again. It seemed everyone was having them these days. As much as Mohinder wanted to hate Sylar, the war had changed everything for everyone. He knew Sylar was a killer and well suited for his job as an assassin- a one man special forces, really- but even he must have had his limits on how much death and destruction he could witness before it started to affect him. It was basic human psychology and Sylar, no matter his personality, couldn't possibly be exempt from the ramifications of living like that all day every day. Mohinder wanted to hate him, but at his heart, he felt a guarded sense of compassion for him and all who fought on the front lines.

The war had made things particularly difficult for Maria. She never wanted to be a part of something so vile, and she desperately hoped against all hope that perhaps things could be solved peacefully, but as each day passed and the body count on both sides rose, she realized that it was not likely. She didn't blame those with abilities for resisting- far from it- but she was never one to believe that violence solved anything either, favoring passive resistance as a means for change. She believed that circumventing the system was a better way of destroying it than outright attack and she did what she could to subvert the laws she saw as unjust.

Her day to day existence, along with just about everyone's, had been altered by everything from shortages in food to closer scrutiny by neighbors looking for any sign of allegiance to the rebellion even if it was just to render basic humanitarian aid. Specials were not human so it was said, and they did not need or deserve compassion. She disagreed and she knew Bryant would have as well even if he wasn't one of them. They were very much human and she was reminded of that with each injured person Peter cared for in the safety of her home and each starving or cold person who came to her door in the middle of the night seeking just enough to survive. She never took anyone in the way she used to due to fear someone may see it and report her. Noah may have been connected, but there were only so many things he could fix and she didn't want to push the envelope. Still, she never turned her back on anyone. She always provided for those that she could even if it meant having them wait in the woods while Peter quickly teleported what they needed to them.

It had always been difficult to get people into Canada via the ladder, but now it was virtually impossible and the flow of specials she helped move slowed to a trickle at best due to the borders being closed. Hiro and Ando were the last of her charges to make the journey and she had only seen Hiro once after the fighting started. She wondered and worried about all of the specials she came in contact with, it was just her nature to try to help them as best she could but it was getting harder by the day. She looked back at Sylar as he lay sleeping on her table and she smiled to herself. He was the one she least suspected would ever need anyone again, but despite it all she was glad to see him again even if it wasn't under ideal circumstances. He had unquestionably done horrific things in his past, but for the moment he seemed to be working equally hard to rectify them by taking the position he had and he was paying the price for it.

Peter jerked awake after he nearly fell off his chair where he kept vigil over his patients. He hadn't slept in almost three days and it wasn't all because of Sylar. His unique combination of abilities and skills made him very much in demand in the war effort and he was more or less on call all the time- and people made use of that fact. He could teleport anywhere in an instant to save a life and his healing ability meant that he could go right into the thick of battle and even get injured himself during a rescue and still survive- providing there were no lucky shots to the back of the head like Sylar did so long ago. He was exhausted because there was no end to the need for medical help and he was far too compassionate to tell anyone no, so he went for long stretches neglecting his own needs to help others. It was his innate predisposition and it was nearly killing him.

He sat up in his chair and rubbed his face vigorously in an effort to wake up. He had to stay alert just for a little longer, just until he could be positive that Sylar would be alright. He had lost a lot of blood and it wasn't like Maria had a blood bank in her lab, so he had to wait for his body to manufacture more. In a pinch, he might have been able to donate his own blood directly to Sylar because he wouldn't have to worry about type matching, but it had never been done before and he wasn't sure of the consequences. It seemed he was sleeping fine and his skin had a pinkish hue, but he just wanted to be sure…He reminded himself to lecture Sylar about waiting so long to call when he woke up again. He could have easily bled to death in that alley and he could only guess it was because he was too proud to ask for help. That was partially why he literally dropped what he was doing when his cell phone buzzed because he knew it must be dire.

If it weren't for Rebel, or Micah as he used to know him, the resistance may not have gone as well as it had despite the difficulties. Few knew his real identity and Peter respected that. It was bad enough knowing that a 12 year old kid had better organizational skills than whoever was supposed to be running the war, but to actually name him-even if it did just start as a rumor- seemed patently irresponsible. It was Rebel that set up the communication network Sylar and everyone else used to coordinate supply lines and pass information via cell phone without being traced. It was also Rebel that fed the infantry with real time information on surveillance and made sure locked doors opened and money spat out of ATM's when needed. No one, including Peter, knew where Rebel really was. He was nowhere and yet he seemed to be everywhere. Still, he was only one person and he couldn't look out for everyone. Peter just hoped that he and Molly were safe and together, wherever they were.

He stood and yawned as he stretched his weary muscles before carefully peeling aside the blanket that covered Sylar's still body to check his bandages. Sylar stirred slightly and lazily blinked his dark eyes at the unwelcome feeling of cold air on his skin. "Sorry, man." Peter smiled. "I tried not to wake you up."

"Good luck with that." He mumbled, draping his arm across his eyes to block out the bright light above. Somehow he managed to sleep with it on and it was just a testament to how tired he really was. "How long was I asleep?" His internal clock that was usually so precise had dimmed somewhat.

Peter glanced at his watch. "About a day and a half." He laughed while he carefully peeled off the skin tape that secured the now bloody bandages to his side. He knew from his paramedic days that Sylar was hit with a fairly large caliber bullet by the size of the exit wound and it was a little like putting a puzzle together to stitch the ragged edges together, but he persevered and largely succeeded.

Sylar softly hissed and jumped slightly at the stinging sensation of the adhesive being pulled away and the stretching of the wound that went with it. "So it's Sunday?" He asked through clenched teeth. He really wished Peter would just rip it off in one quick motion even if it did cause the wound to start bleeding again. Maybe he was doing it on purpose… The more he thought about it, it seemed like a very long time for him to sleep and he peeked at Peter from under his arm suspiciously. "Did you give me anything?"

"Like what, rufies?" Peter asked sarcastically, tossing aside the bandages and inspecting the gunshot for signs of progress.

"You would." He sneered, letting his head fall back into the pillow with a soft thud.

Peter's mouth quirked up into a grin. "Don't flatter yourself. I could lose my license for raping patients. You aren't worth it." Mohinder softly chuckled to himself while he mixed chemicals in a tube. Despite their obvious differences, Peter and Sylar had an undeniable chemistry all their own- sometimes inert and sometimes volatile resulting in intermittent explosions.

Sylar paused to give him a long, cold stare. "You don't even have a license anymore."

"Yeah, but I'm still working on you, right?" He congenially smiled while he soaked a gauze pad in antiseptic and carefully cleaned the area of dried blood. The stitches were already becoming slack as the wound closed from the edges inward and there was no sign of infection, but it would still be another two days or so before he was able to walk around without much pain. "You can sue me for malpractice later."

"And get what?" He snarked half from the pain and half in irritation at Peter's unshakeable cheerfulness.

"Exactly."

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Damian sat alone in his tiny, cramped, exhorbantly expensive studio apartment. He had no furniture other than a cheap wooden futon to sleep on and a desk lamp he found in a dumpster with a broken shade. The cupboards were devoid of dishes and the only utensils he had were made of plastic. His building was an absolute shithole, but he knew that the cost of living in Washington DC was incredibly high and he got by on as little as he could. He didn't like to think about the previous occupants, but he could tell by the peeling paint and the used syringe he found in the window sill that they were probably heroin addicts that ate paint chips. He wasn't living the high life, that was for sure, be knew what sacrifice was coming from a large family and he was determined to do what he had to in order to succeed. Things might be rough now, but they wouldn't always be that way- at least that's what he kept telling himself.

He didn't have a television, but he did often take home Senator Petrelli's copies of the daily newspaper to read at the end of the day, usually untouched by his boss. In them he read about the ongoing war between those who were special and those who were not and it made him uneasy. The outright hostile tone of suspicion and hatred with which those who were born different were spoken of gave him the chills. It was a war of perception, words, and action and the media consistently defaulted on the side of non-specials. With his father being a 'friend' and de facto supporter of the rebellion, he had known specials and even had them stay at his house from time to time on their way north even though his family didn't have much to offer other than a roof to sleep under. It was the family's credo to help anyone who needed it, special or not, because it was the right thing to do. His father always told him no matter how bad you may think you have it, there's always someone who is worse off than you and he carried that with him. That's why he never complained about the Spartan conditions he lived in, but he was too embarrassed to tell his boss where he lived so he asked to be dropped off several blocks away in a better neighborhood and walked home even though it was a little dangerous.

Between having met specials himself and working in Petrelli's office, he had a pretty good grasp on the specials issue. Those that he had personally known were never the malicious, bloodthirsty traitors the paper made them out to be. More often they were scared, tired, and just wanted to lead a normal life. They didn't want to hurt anyone and they certainly didn't believe that they deserved to be stripped of all basic human rights in the name of paranoia and he tended to agree. But then there was Sylar. The name alone struck fear into the hearts of those who knew anything about him, or anything that the media said about him since no one seemed to actually have met him, and even specials themselves seemed to talk about him in hushed whispers. He was in a category all by himself if the reports he read and summarized for his boss were accurate. Incredibly fast, precise, focused, and deadly, he knew exactly what he was doing and could take down an entire facility in a matter of minutes when he attacked. He killed quickly and without hesitation anyone who attempted to stop him and he was said to have an almost unlimited array of abilities at his disposal. How someone could become that powerful was beyond his comprehension, but the new S2 project may have found the chink in his proverbial armor.

Damian was conflicted when it came to S2. Someone as powerful as Sylar could destroy everything and everyone if he was so inclined, no conventional weapon could stop him. And if he existed, there may be a time in the future when more like him would appear if that was the way evolution was headed. Humans needed a way to defend themselves, but therein lie the rub. People like Senator McCaskey were not at all interested in self defense, they wanted to eliminate all threats to their existence- it wasn't action, it was overreaction and that was what made him sick to think that something as deadly as S2 could exist. The formula wasn't meant to kill…yet…but he knew that it was in the cards and judging by today's encounter with Senator Petrelli, he thought so too.

Senator Petrelli was an incredibly hard man to read, like any good politician. A smile could mean anything and lack thereof was equally ambiguous. He made his name on the identification and registration of specials and the country loved him for it. He was diametrically opposite of anything Damian hoped to be, but Maria insisted he work in his office despite the apparent gulf of disparity in views. He didn't understand it at the time, and resolved to get through it if only to have a great resume, but now he was starting to question things. Despite his wonderful speeches on the senate floor and on television warning the public about the dangerous nature of specials and the need to keep them tightly controlled, he seemed to know about Maria's operation and he chose to do nothing about it and the S2 project should have made him ecstatic, but he seemed agitated.

There were tight-lipped rumors, mostly from McCaskey's interns, that Petrelli had a brother who was a special, although it was never confirmed. Legend had it that late one night on a dare, a brave intern snuck into the office of Noah Bennet, a regional director, and perused the database in search of the missing mystery sibling. He managed to find 4 registered Petrelli's before he was busted, but no one ever spoke to him after that. It was like he just disappeared off the face of the Earth. Damian knew who Noah Bennet was, the man was in and out of his boss's office on business about the chip program frequently, and he gave him the creeps. There was something very cold and dangerous in his icy blue eyes and the way he smiled like a shark that sent him scurrying out of the room as quickly as possible, so he didn't doubt the rumors for a second.

People disappeared all the time and he shuddered to think that Bennet had something to do with it. It was well known that captured specials were used for experimentation, the government was proud of the fact that advances in medicine were made based on the "volunteer" participation of those with abilities, but it was clear enough that it wasn't a goodwill gesture. S2 had only gone as far as it did because it was limited by the availability of strong specials. For most, S1 was sufficient to take away their powers, but the government needed something stronger to take down people like Sylar. The problem was, they didn't have him and no one they could capture had his unique set of abilities, so the project had been stalled for a trial and error approach. Knowing he targeted holding facilities, they had all been equipped with different formulations and it just so happened he walked into the Manhattan facility- the one with the most recent upgrade. Although they didn't catch him, they did collect a lot of his blood which would likely serve as a substitute for his actually being strapped to a table. It might just be enough to perfect the formula and if they did, it would be all over for the rebellion. It was, in fact, the only reason the government hadn't fully mobilized in the first place. But once the guns were fully loaded with S2 ammunition, blood would flow like rivers in the streets and the country would witness wholesale death and destruction the likes of which they have never seen before.

He had always hoped for better times ahead, but now he wasn't so sure. The whole world had gone mad and Gandhi's words had never seemed more true: an eye for an eye leaves everyone blind.

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Matt shuffled around the kitchen in the quarters, trying his hand at making a quiche. He tried to follow the recipe as closely as possible, but he just knew his product wouldn't look anything like the picture. At the moment, he was aiming for edible. He had been substituting for Mohinder ever since Maria learned about some new deadly project the government was working on, and not always with the same results. He didn't know how Mohinder always seemed to make his creations beautiful and tasty. It seemed he could get one, but not the other and neither consistently.

If anyone minded, they didn't complain- at least not outwardly, and that was the only way he would know of their dissatisfaction. He was offered a dose of the serum, but he declined and chose to remain as normal as possible. Partially it was because he was never the type of guy that was awed by his own ability, in fact it could be downright annoying and distressful, and partly because of the nasty side effects of the cure. The symptoms seemed to vary according to the ability trying to be restored. Mohinder was in bed for days with muscle aches, so he assumed he would suffer a debilitating migraine or an aneurism if he tried to get his back. No thanks. Maria understood because it was, in the end, his decision. Peter and Sylar were lucky bastards because they never felt a thing thanks to their healing abilities. He was fine with Peter, but Sylar was a different story.

When it came to the slave issue, he was confused as to what he should do. His skills as a cop should have been good for something, but this was an entirely different game altogether- real guerrilla warfare stuff according to those that had been there themselves, and he just didn't know how to contribute. Sitting back and doing nothing didn't seem right either when there were others out there fighting and dying for him, but he was a little more pessimistic about the government changing its mind without prodding, so in the end he was stuck in neutral for lack of direction.

He sighed and tossed his towel onto the counter. He was stuck making quiche in a kitchen while others were out there doing the dirty work. It just didn't feel right and he hated it. He tried talking to others about it, but Peter was always dead on his feet and Maria and Mohinder were locked in the lab 23 hours a day. There was no one left for him to confide in or use as a sounding board to figure it out for himself. Without his power, he wasn't sure how useful he would be to the cause anyway. He was out of shape and had some difficulty reading and the list of negative thoughts went on in his head as to why they wouldn't take him even if he tried to help. He didn't think he was special…at all…and he felt helpless and restless about it.


	4. People Who Need People

**A/N: Hello again to Flyingporridge! Welcome back!**

**Chapter 4- People Who Need People**

"_At the risk of seeming ridiculous, let me say that the true revolutionary is guided by a great feeling of love. It is impossible to think of a genuine revolutionary lacking this quality.__ Perhaps it is one of the great dramas of the leader that he or she must combine a passionate spirit with a cold intelligence and make painful decisions without flinching."__ –Che Guevara_

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It was way too soon and everyone knew it, but no one dared try to talk him out of it for fear he might make them a target of his focused attention- and the possibility that he just might succeed. Sylar stood half leaning against the table that had been his bed for support, clearly in pain and favoring his injured side judging by the way his shoulders slumped and the guarded, tense expression etched on his face. Even Peter knew better than to challenge him when he was like that, it would be like taunting a wounded badger- probably not the best idea unless you thought it was a good day to die. Mohinder and Maria tried to focus on their work so as not to gawk, but they sometimes stole curious glances in his direction, knowing he wouldn't want an audience but unable to ignore the anticipation.

Sylar took as deep a breath as he could to prepare himself. His side burned and he tried his best to ignore the sharp ache that shot from the wound every time he stretched too far or moved the wrong way. He knew all he had to do was ask Peter to give him something for the pain and he would, but he decided he wanted to stick it out. He didn't care for the zoned out feeling of the Vicodin he had before and if there was any left, he thought it best be saved for someone who couldn't heal like he could- even if it was going at a snail's pace. Even though the pain at times took his breath away, he reminded himself it was only temporary. He had been through worse before and he would survive this as well, it was just a matter of determination and grace.

His eyes rested on the empty glass flask that sat on the counter in front of him with quiet resolve. It was only a span of no more than six feet and it was a relatively light object, but he wasn't sure how much of his ability was lost to the lucky shot of S2 and he was a little apprehensive. He had been completely powerless before, thanks to the Shanti virus Noah had knowingly infected him with, random eclipses, and most recently a combination of an electronic shock collar and a drug formulated by the very woman that now was attempting to thwart her own efforts by giving him his abilities back…again. He wasn't entirely lacking in ability this time, but he was a man who operated on precision, and for that he had to test the limits of what remained. Slowly, and with absolute concentration, he lifted his hand toward the flask and twitched his long fingers in a come-hither gesture to coax the glass to him the way he always did- and it almost worked.

Maria closed her eyes and quietly sighed. The sound of shattering glass on the lab floor may as well have been her hopes that he would steadily improve without further intervention. She assumed that the longer his healing ability worked, the stronger it would get and with it would come a natural restoration of his arsenal of powers, but that didn't appear to be the case and she didn't have the heart to turn to look at him. She could imagine how disappointed he must have been- or angry. From Mohinder's perspective he didn't appear to be either, but then again he was notoriously hard to decipher. Rather than hang his head in shame or perhaps mutter a curse under his breath, he seemed almost fascinated by his failure and his wide eyes wandered over the shards of broken glass as though he were trying to put them all back together in his mind. Mohinder sucked in a deep breath and returned to his microscope because it was almost frightening to behold the inner workings of Sylar's brain. It made him feel so….helpless in the face of such relentlessly methodical logic.

Peter, having the misfortune of being at Sylar's back and not seeing the way he intensely studied the fragments glittering on the floor like diamonds, had the temerity to ask, "What happened?"

Defying everyone's expectations, Sylar didn't spin around and attempt to slice his head open for his insolence. Rather, in a very detached observational tone he responded, "I let go too soon. The velocity was much less than something of similar weight used to be." He blinked almost as if he were waking from a dream. "My timing is off. I can still use my telekinesis, just not with the force I once had." He glanced down at his upturned hand and noted the blue energy that danced in his palm lacked the same intensity and vigor it used to have. If he had to guess, he would have estimated that his net ability stood at about 20% of what it was and that was far below even what Peter had. To think that the emo was now stronger irritated him.

Peter himself wasn't keeping score- he never did. His concern wasn't which of the two were more dominant or who would get the best of who because as far as he was concerned, they were both on the same side. What mattered was getting him better and offering as much non-threatening support as he could tolerate until Maria or Mohinder cracked the case. He knew Sylar well enough to anticipate that the most vital thing to him was his sense of control. If anything put him in a position where he felt he didn't have a choice or he felt less than, there would be trouble. He had to figure out a way to keep him involved in the war effort to make him feel as though he were still needed and relevant while he recuperated. Sylar was not one to sit in front of a TV vegetating until he was fully recovered, if anything, keeping him in the lab much longer would take an act of God in and of itself. "Hey man," Peter said just loud enough for Sylar to hear, "keep trying. You need to practice because I need a break."

Sylar slowly shuffled in a convoluted circle to face him and suspiciously asked, "What's that supposed to mean?" He didn't appreciate being pandered to in the slightest. He didn't need anyone's pity.

"It means I need help." Peter said flatly. He wanted Sylar to know it wasn't at all difficult for him to ask another person for assistance even if his former nemesis found it nearly impossible. "I'm getting my ass kicked every time I go out there because I can't defend myself and the person I'm trying to help all while treating them too. If I had someone to watch my back while I worked, it would make things easier."

"You want me to be your partner?" He almost laughed incredulously. "Peter, you know how I work, and I know you can't tolerate the things I do. I don't think it would work."

Peter held his gaze unflinchingly. "I was there when you took down Jessup, remember? Did I try to stop you then or tell you to do it differently? I didn't like it, but it was your business and I respected that. I did it then and I can do it now." Sylar looked almost dumbstruck as though he had forgotten that fact. "Look, I don't think that fighting is the best way to solve this whole mess, but I also know that like it or not that's what we have to deal with. War is messy and we have to do what we can to end it. I can do that by helping others and you can do what you feel is right, but we can do it together."

Sylar winced slightly as another jolt of sharp pain ripped through his side when he tried to stand up straight. True enough, Peter didn't interfere even though it was probably all he could do to stand by and watch while he exacted his revenge, but he did it just the same. Although he hated the idea of working with anyone, he was chomping at the bit to get back in the game if for no other reason than to get out of the lab. "Fine." He growled. "But only until I get my full abilities back."

"We're working on it, my friend." Mohinder said wearily as he rubbed his tired eyes. "At least on this occasion, we want the same thing you do."

Sylar glanced over his shoulder and smirked. "I thought you weren't going to help me anymore."

"I personally have no desire to." He replied darkly. "I would just as soon never see you again, but it appears that fate has once more chained us together and either I help you pick the lock or we both drown. It isn't much of a choice, really."

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It was late and it was probably not a great idea, but Damian walked quickly through the dark streets of his neighborhood, past abandoned lots and vacant buildings on his way to the store to buy some aspirin. Due to his incredibly low pay as an intern, he didn't have much money to buy food. During the week it wasn't so bad because there was a steady supply of leftovers like doughnuts or bagels from the never ending list of meetings his boss hosted, and he could have all the free coffee he could drink in the office, so he didn't usually pack a lunch. Of course, this bounty wasn't always guaranteed, so there were days when he subsisted on coffee alone, but it didn't happen often. The weekends, however, were a different story. He couldn't afford to buy good food and he didn't have dishes to prepare it with anyway, so his diet consisted of ready to eat meals and fruit if he could manage to find a few pieces that looked like they weren't well on their way to rotting in the store. The lack of proper nutrition and the stress of his job made him prone to headaches, and he had what amounted to a migraine. He seemed to be getting a lot of those lately.

He lay on his futon for hours with a sick feeling churning in his stomach while the pounding in his head intensified, debating if he should just try to go to sleep or risk going out so late to buy more. His neighborhood was beset by crime and was more or less run by local gangs who were constantly fighting over territory to sell drugs or prostitutes, or….whatever else they could think of, so it wasn't really safe to be out after dark. But he had to go to work in the morning, and he couldn't afford to be up all night in misery while he listened to the screaming and intermittent gunfire taking place outside his window, so he chose to venture out into the night in search of pain relief. He tried to walk in the street to stay in the areas lit by the overhead lamps, but he just had a nagging feeling that it was all a bad idea.

"Hey, homey!" A voice called mockingly from the front porch of a rundown house. "You got a cigarette?" It was cold outside, but it didn't seem to prevent groups of people from loitering late at night.

"Sorry, I don't smoke." He replied while he kept walking. There was something menacing in the man's voice and he looked like he had a few friends with him.

"Where you going?" He continued, laughing as he and his friends jumped down off the porch to follow. "Hey man, who you roll with?" Damian walked faster as his heart pounded in his chest. He knew he didn't exactly fit in the neighborhood, but he did live in Brooklyn so he was street smart- enough to know that the men were part of a gang and were probably going to attack him no matter what he said. "Get back here!" The man yelled. "Don't dis me like that, punk!"

And so it began. Initially, Damian's first instinct was to run and he did- his feet pounded the pavement and he exhaled huge amounts of air that evaporated in the cold night like a steam engine, but he couldn't outrun fate. One of the men pulled a gun and fired rapidly in his direction, not really caring if he hit him or not- life had become cheap in some parts of the city and he held his reputation in higher regard than the frightened man's life that was running from him. He couldn't look weak in front of his friends.

He collapsed to the ground and rolled for some distance under his own momentum, his left shoulder and knee burning like fire until he came to an abrupt stop against the wheel of a rusted out, parked car. The men easily caught up to him and rather than be satisfied that they had sufficiently taught him a lesson in respect, they continued to taunt him. "What you running from, boy?" One man laughed before turning to his friend. "Looks like Clark Kent here ain't faster than a bullet after all!"

Damian was in agony, and he was frightened. He lay there on the dirty pavement, panting and bleeding and trying desperately to think of a way out of the situation. "Please," he gasped still out of breath, "I'm sorry. Take whatever you want, just don't kill me."

His tormentor took exception to his request. "You callin' me a thief?" He yelled in anger. "You think you're better than me, punk?"

"No..I.." Was all he could say before he reflexively covered his head to ward off the kick that was fast approaching. Like a pack of animals, the men joined in the assault, punching and kicking and hurling insults while he curled into a tight ball in a futile effort to defend himself. From under his arm, he could see them laughing and smiling- they enjoyed hurting him like it was some sort of game or he deserved it and that's when things started to get strange.

He felt dizzy and he attributed it to his preexisting migraine, the blows he took to the head, or perhaps shock, but the space around each man that he could see started to almost shimmer like a haze. He was certain he was going to lose consciousness at any moment and he closed his eyes, praying he wouldn't die like a dog in the street that night. His family would be distraught, but they were too far away to help him. In the distance he heard a siren and he hoped someone had enough courage to call the police, but the last thing he heard was the strange sound of silence. The men were no longer laughing.

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Nathan sat in his office, mostly in the dark. He had a nice apartment in Georgetown, but he didn't feel at home there. His home was in New York, or at least it used to be. When he thought of the Petrelli mansion now, it felt just as cold and lonely as his apartment- like an abandoned scene of a crime haunted by the ghosts of the past. His mother, perhaps dreaming of the future that they were all now living, had flown to Paris well before the chip program even started. It was with her that Claire initially stayed after Maria helped her escape to Canada, but he knew she wouldn't be happy there. He was never really happy around her, so he couldn't expect his daughter to tolerate it.

His daughter. It still seemed so unreal that a part of him was out there walking around in the world. He had missed so much of her life that she seemed like a stranger sometimes, but he also saw shades of himself in her: her quiet determinism, the way she bravely smiled even when she was upset. They had a rough relationship, that was for sure, but when Claire made up her mind to do something, there was no talking her out of it and he had to admire her for that. When word of the resistance got around, she was among the first to volunteer perhaps knowing better than anyone what that might entail. Of course he was apprehensive, as any father would be, but he knew that it would be a waste of time trying to persuade her to stay on the sidelines. She had been doing that all along and she was tired of it. What he felt most guilty about was the fact that he couldn't really protect her as he had before. He wasn't really in a position to protect anyone- not even himself.

His first victim may have been his own little brother and it ate at him nearly every day. Peter had done more than his fair share to play scapegoat during his first election when it became too inconvenient to have a brother who was convinced he could fly. The rational thing to do was to say he was suicidal and depressed, even though anyone who knew Peter remembered him for his warm and friendly nature. He never forgot the look of utter shock and hurt in his brother's eyes, as though he had physically torn his heart from his chest, but he ultimately forgave him for his betrayal- he always did. Lately he had to once again sweep him under the rug so the chip project could go forward. It killed him to essentially out and then enslave his own brother in a system he knew would be brutal, but the alternative was McCaskey's annihilation plan and that seemed infinitely worse. He just hoped that someday Peter would understand.

He hadn't spoken to him since, so he didn't exactly know where the two of them stood, but he tried his best to make it right by asking Maria to take him and try to keep his true potential a secret. McCaskey's intern nearly jeopardized his entire effort by snooping in the database, but it paid to have friends in all the right places. Noah Bennet was worth his weight in gold. It was hard to tell if the intern was just engaged in stupidity or if it was some kind of intelligence gathering operation, but either way it had to be dealt with swiftly, and it was. The two men agreed that Peter, and by extension Maria, had to be kept secret at all cost. A midnight bag and tag by Bennet and a signed rendition order later by Nathan solved the problem. It probably wasn't good politics to kidnap another senator's intern and have him disappear down a deep, dark hole never to be found again, but when it came to Peter, you didn't mess with Senator Petrelli and he had no regrets.

Many times he wanted to find a reason to visit Maria as a pretense to see his brother again, but he couldn't think of any business the two had that would warrant a personal visit. While being popular had its advantages in terms of power and privilege, it also carried with it the liability of a posse of Secret Service bodyguards and closer scrutiny by detractors. He couldn't bring potential trouble like that to her doorstep, so he was forced to stay away and simply wonder how Peter was faring- especially since the rebellion broke out and even more so now that S2 was being tested. He knew he wasn't a fighter, but despite this he often found himself square in the middle of the action just as he did at Kirby Plaza to take on Sylar- a freakishly powerful, seemingly unstoppable force- and he ended up exploding for his efforts. What precious little information he did have came from Noah's involvement with Maria. Peter had gone off the grid shortly before the rebellion began, removing his own chip after his powers were restored so he couldn't be traced. Nathan was glad that he had his abilities back, but he did wonder why then he never teleported to Washington to see him once. After much deliberation, he decided that perhaps Peter finally had enough of his scheming and chose to never speak to him again. It wasn't like him, but maybe he finally took his advice to stop trying to save the world and look out for himself for once.

He laid his head back in his plush, leather chair and sighed deeply. He was so tired of living a double life. In order to do what was best for all, he had to sacrifice those that were closest to him and he was left with nothing but many long hours alone with nowhere to go. Political necessity dictated that he distance himself from those he loved most and he was surrounded by courtiers and power brokers, all trying to swindle or flatter their way to the top. Maybe that's why he took an interest in Damian. Kelly was one of the manipulators in training and he was convinced she would do just fine in politics, but Damian reminded him of Peter: he refused to play the game in favor of an honest and sincere approach to change even if it hampered his own success. He was sure a psychoanalyst would have a field day, suggesting that Damian was serving as a proxy for his lost relationship with Peter, and he couldn't exactly disagree. Perhaps his relationship with Peter was irreparably damaged, he didn't know. But while he couldn't go back and be the moral compass he should have been, he could try to right the wrongs of his past by encouraging the next generation that would take his place.

He had made many mistakes and hurtful decisions in his time, but all were necessary. He made the tough choices when he had to so no one else would have to live with the consequences in order to quietly shape the future and advert disaster for specials everywhere, even if they would never know it. But the world had too many sharks like him when what it needed was more people like Peter and Damian who could compromise and pick up the pieces after the fighting was over to forge a new society of tolerance and healing.


	5. Taking Sides

**A/N: So this is the part where RL gets nuts. I am moving across the country at the end of the week…not sure when the next update will be, but I promise I won't abandon ship! Cheers to all who have followed so far!**

**Chapter 5- Taking Sides**

"_If you don't want to have to kill or capture every bad guy in the country, you have to reintegrate those who are willing to be reconciled and become part of the solution instead of a continued part of the problem.__ "  
><em>_-David Petraeus_

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Damian's head was still pounding, if not worse than it was before. He could hear softly mumbling voices nearby, but it was the steady beeping sound of his own heart monitored on a machine that encouraged him to open his eyes. He was almost relieved to know he was in a hospital- perhaps someone witnessed the attack and had enough pity to call the police for him rather than let him be beaten to death out in the street over….what exactly he couldn't recall. Something about him not having a cigarette…

Although he could see it was daytime through the window of his room, it faced a brick wall which limited the amount of light that streamed through. All the better for him since he still had a headache and bright light hurt his eyes. The first thing he thought of was his boss. He was probably late for work, and his heart monitor temporarily shrieked with his panic. The clock on the far wall confirmed his fears: 11:53. He felt sick. He knew that rationally, he had a good reason for not showing up or calling in, but he still couldn't shake the feeling that his boss would still have that same stony, disappointed look he always did when it came to him. He could imagine that Nathan would feel insulted that after taking him out and buying him an expensive dinner, he didn't even have the courtesy to show up for work. He was going to be fired for sure.

He was glad he didn't die curled in a ball on a dark street, but he wasn't feeling much better in his bed hooked up to IV's and machines either. His shoulder and knee were very sore and from what he could see through the thin, powder blue gown he wore, his shoulder had been bandaged and it felt like his leg had been too. Had he really been shot? He didn't really remember feeling any sharp pain while he was running, only after he fell and he assumed, or was hoping, that it was only scrapes or sprains. Suddenly he felt permanently altered by the artificial tunnels that had been bored through his flesh.

He tried to lift his right hand to examine his shoulder, but he only got a few inches before he was stopped by a clanking sound. He looked curiously at the silver handcuffs that encircled his wrist and were secured to the bedrail. He stared at it for a long time, his mind spinning in an attempt to come up with an explanation. They didn't just handcuff every person who came to a hospital, was it some kind of joke or a mistake? He let his hand fall to the bed and he glanced to the table on his left side to call his family or maybe even the office, but there was no phone. The wire was draped across the table, but the phone itself had been removed. What was going on?

The divider curtain swayed gently as a young nurse appeared, perhaps alerted by his racing heart monitor. She made a wide circle around his bed and kept her eye on him cautiously as one might a rabid dog as she checked his IV. "What is this?" He asked jingling the handcuffs lightly. She didn't say anything to him, but she had a look of disgust on her face as if it were a stupid question before turning to go. "Wait!" He pleaded. "I don't understand…"

It was only a matter of minutes before he was visited by a tired looking doctor flanked by two brawny police officers. The presence of law enforcement meant that his situation was serious. He could tell by the way they stood with their arms folded across their broad chests sneering at him that they weren't there to get a victim statement. The doctor flipped through his medical chart and largely ignored the fact that he had an audience. So much for patient privacy, Damian thought. "Damian Montgomery of Brooklyn New York, is that right?" The middle aged man almost yawned.

"Yes." Damian replied, trying to keep his attention on the doctor. Maybe this was all just a case of mistaken identity.

"Born 1987, 5 feet 11 inches, 145 pounds, black hair, blue eyes." The man glanced at him over his glasses and muttered, "Looks about right."

"Um…" Damian noted the name embroidered in blue on the doctor's pristine white lab coat, "Dr. Feldstein, I will be happy to answer your questions, but I have a really bad headache. Can I get some aspirin?"

The doctor gave a slight chuckle and slammed his chart shut. "I'm not required to do anything for you, son. You are medically stable now- my job here is done." He nodded over his shoulder at the police officers as he left the room and added, "Ask them if they have any."

The policemen approached the side of his bed and towered over him with nasty smirks on their faces. "I'm Sergeant Evans and this is Sergeant Rasheed." The bulkier of the two began. "We can make this easy, or we can make it hard, but we will get the job done. Now, just tell us what happened last night."

The opening spiel was a little ominous, but perhaps they said that to everyone. "I went out for aspirin last night at about 11:00, and I was jumped by four men who I do not know." He responded slowly. "They beat me until I passed out and then I woke up here."

"So that's it, huh?" Rasheed asked with raised eyebrows. He smiled at his partner and asked, "Why do they always think we're stupid?" The two men shared a laugh before the questioning continued. "Didn't you forget something?"

"Forget what?" Damian asked, his blue eyes wide with confusion. "That's what happened. Shouldn't you be out looking for the guys that did this?"

Evans leaned on the bedrail and his voice was dead serious. "We know exactly where they are- in the morgue. Now why don't you tell us how they got there?"

"They're dead?" He asked in disbelief. "How the hell should I know what happened to them? Look, I told you everything I know. I didn't have anything to do with it."

"You don't have to answer any more of their questions." Came a familiar voice from behind the curtain. Nathan entered the room with a stern expression on his face, followed by two well dressed agents with wires in their ears. He gave a curt nod to the sergeants. "Thank you gentlemen, my office will be contacting your precinct shortly to assist in your investigation."

"Assholes." Evans muttered under his breath as he passed the federal agents on his way out the door. Nathan gave him a tight-lipped smile while the agents ignored them.

"Thank you, Sir." Damian sighed with relief. His next step was to ask for a lawyer, but he didn't think one would just walk through his door.

"No problem." Nathan demurred while he briefly looked his intern over. "Looks like you found a creative way of avoiding Kelly today. Really, I don't think she would have been as bad as this, though."

A slow smile spread across Damian's face. "How did you find me?"

Nathan scoffed. "You do realize what I do and who I work for, right?" In fact, he had been looking for him all morning because it just wasn't like him to be late, let alone not show up. He just knew something had gone terribly wrong and his worst fear was confirmed when he read the initial police report passed to him through a mutual acquaintance at the local PD. That little favor was going to cost him 2 tickets to the White House Correspondent's Dinner- a relatively small price to pay since he never went anyway.

"Yeah, I guess." He granted bashfully. "But I swear to you, I don't know what this is all about."

Nathan held up his hand to silence him before turning to his bodyguards. "Do you guys have something to fix this?" He asked looping his finger around the handcuffs. A female agent handed him a set of keys from her pocket and he thanked her before asking them to wait in the hallway. He released Damian's wrist and pulled up a chair next to his bed and his expression was intensely grim. "Damian, this is very serious." He proclaimed in a low voice. "The paramedics found you last night surrounded by four dead men- not a mark on their bodies to explain how it happened."

He shook his head slowly in shock and his mouth was dry. "I…I don't know what happened. I didn't kill them- I couldn't have! The last thing I remember was them kicking me and then everything went fuzzy- I guess I passed out, but I woke up here. I didn't kill anyone!"

His heart monitor was beeping like a time bomb. "Ok, calm down." Nathan said softly. "I believe you. Just take it easy, ok? With your injuries it would be hard to get a jury to buy that you did it all by yourself. Was anyone else with you?"

"No." He replied. "If there was, it may not have happened in the first place." It was a foolish idea for him to be out so late and he knew it. He went out to find pain reliever only to find himself in worse shape than he started.

"Maybe not, but there is one other possibility." Nathan's eyes felt like lasers burning a hole into his mind- probing for any sign of insincerity. "Do you or anyone in your family have special abilities?"

Damian's eyes reflexively widened and his heart skipped a beat. The director of the specials program was asking him if he had abilities- this wasn't good at all. "No." He almost whispered, imagining what his future may hold. He didn't have any abilities nor did anyone in his family, but that may not be good enough if his boss suspected otherwise. Senator Petrelli may have looked the other way for Maria because it somehow benefited him to do so, but he didn't think he had any political capital to offer to keep him from suffering the consequences.

"Ok." Nathan nodded, giving him a light pat on the arm as he stood to go. "Take your time to heal up and come back to the office when you're ready. I'll put you on medical leave."

Damian was grateful for the gesture, but it wasn't really helpful. "But Sir, I don't have medical benefits."

That little fact seemed inconsequential to his boss. He paused and lightly shrugged, "You do now. I'll make sure your bills are covered and you get paid while you're gone. What are you supposed to do? Walk around bleeding all over the office? You guys are interns, not slaves."

Damian grinned broadly despite the unfortunate pun. "Thank you, Sir. I really appreciate it."

The sincerity in his voice made Nathan a bit uncomfortable. "Don't mention it." He hastily mumbled. "Oh, and if the local PD comes back- don't tell them anything. Just refer them to the office and let us handle it."

Damian massaged his sore wrist and laid his head back with a smile. He didn't know why his boss was suddenly being so kind to him, but he was grateful. Facing four counts of murder was a very serious thing indeed and he did feel sorry for the men despite what they had done to him, but he was innocent and he was glad that things were going to be ok from a legal perspective. Prison was no place for him and he knew it- if he thought what he had experienced was rough, he shuddered to think what would no doubt be done to him while he was locked in a cell. He was ever so thankful that Nathan agreed to handle it for him. Still, he couldn't help but wonder about what exactly did happen to those men…

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Claire stared at the address on her cell phone that Rebel had provided her with. Even after all this time, she had no clue who the mysterious person was that just seemed to know everything regarding secret government locations and just when to run and when to duck into a doorway as guards walked past to evade detection, but they always seemed to be right, so she trusted them. Still, it was unsettling taking direction from some faceless person who she only knew through text messages and at the end of blinking cursors. Maybe with the current technology that was the way society was heading. Soon people would just sit alone at computers and have masses of electronic relationships, never speaking to people in person. It kind of gave her the creeps.

Her phone blipped with another incoming message and she smiled curiously when she read it. 'YOU SHOULD GO SEE YOUR DAD'

'WHY?' She typed. Whoever Rebel was, they knew about her family and that really creeped her out.

'HE IS SAD- MISSES YOU. WORRIED ABOUT HIS CLAIRE-BEAR…LOL.'

Her face flushed and she giggled at her father's pet name coming from Rebel. 'TELL HIM I'M OK.' She knew he would worry and she did want to see him again, just not then. She had a mission to plan and her personal desires had to take a backseat. People were counting on her.

There was a pause before Rebel responded. 'YOU TELL HIM. HE DOESN'T KNOW ME.'

She scoffed and shook her head. 'I DON'T KNOW YOU EITHER.'

'THEN TAKE CARE OF THE PEOPLE WHO YOU DO.'

She shoved her phone in her pocket in irritation. She might take tactical direction from this Rebel person, but she didn't have to take their social advice. She grabbed her coat and went out the door of the abandoned building she and Hiro were squatting in. Hiro had gone on another mission, reluctantly leaving her there by herself. She wasn't afraid- that instinct had been drummed out of her long ago in favor of cautious observation. The address Rebel gave her wasn't too far from the building, so she decided to stake the place out and gather intel before determining the best way to proceed.

The house she was squatting in was on the outskirts of a small town in Iowa, so she could travel without much expectation of being stopped and questioned, but she did stumble on a few groups of people huddled together around a makeshift fire to keep warm. They were specials judging by their dirty, ragged appearance and she gave them a small, painfully aware smile. She knew that they looked upon her with a certain sense of envy or even hatred. She suffered as they did with lack of food and being exposed to the elements, but in contrast to them, she looked perfectly healthy and radiant- her skin was flawless and her hair was shiny and well kept. If they didn't suspect she was a regen, they may have guessed that she was one of the very few who were well connected and managed to procure the basic necessities of life easily. Either way, they despised her and she hung her head and kept walking across the bare cornfield toward the town.

If looking healthy was a curse among specials, it was her gift among those who were not because they assumed she was not 'one of them' by virtue of not looking like a refugee on the run. She found that she could use her innocent charm to lull any suspicions that might arise, especially in small towns such as the one she was in, and she was not above playing the damsel in distress if it furthered her goals. She located the address and pretended to browse books in a store across the street to observe through the large plate glass storefront window. She loitered and milled around for as long as she could watching, but the nondescript building didn't seem to be much of a threat. In fact, she didn't see one person go in or out. From the outside, it looked like just another little storefront, but she knew looks could be deceiving. That little building could well go 10 stories underground just as Primatech paper did. She couldn't believe of all the times she visited her father at his job- even unannounced- that she never suspected anything and that right below her feet was Level 5. She could have been standing directly over Sylar's cell for all she knew.

She put her book down and exited the store before she became suspicious, headed back to the abandoned house across the field. Hiro would be back by now and he was probably wondering where she was, but it wasn't like she could leave him a note. In her pocket, her phone vibrated and she pulled it out to read it as she walked. It was Rebel again. 'YOU SHOULD GO.' She shoved it back into her pocket impatiently thinking that this Rebel should mind their own damn business. It buzzed again, but she ignored it. She didn't feel like getting into an argument with someone she didn't know about her personal life.

If she would have read the message, she would have seen one simple word on the screen: RUN!

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West paced the floor incessantly and it was driving Luke mad. "Dude," he chided as he lay on his back on the bare concrete floor, "settle down. You can't dig a hole through the floor by wearing it out."

"I'm sorry if I just can't accept that we are being held by the government!" He snapped. "I told you it was a bad idea to trust that farmer's family!"

Luke rolled his head toward his agitated partner. "It's the middle of winter for fuck's sake! Did you want to sleep out in the middle of a field and freeze to death? How did I know they were going to turn us in?"

"I would rather die freezing to death than be in here!" He hissed, his eyes wide with conviction. "They are just going to kill us anyway."

"That's not what they said." Luke patiently reminded.

"And you believe them?" West laughed manically. "Luke, I told you about what happened to me back in St. Louis..."

"Yeah, yeah…the horned rimmed glasses guy and his mad scientist lab. Dude, you don't know who he was. Maybe he was just some neighborhood pervert that got off torturing boys in his basement. They can't just kill us. There has to be some accountability."

West wanted to laugh, but he was just too shocked by Luke's casual ignorance. "Where have you been for the last 3 months? There is _no_ accountability, Luke. The government can do whatever the hell it wants and no one cares. If nothing else, they can execute us for being part of the rebellion- you know, taking up arms against them? I'm pretty sure that's a crime."

The door to their shared enclosure opened with a rattling clang and a petite, well dressed woman entered with a soft smile. "I'm sorry it's taken so long to get to you, but we had to be sure of your identities." She offered while she gestured to two manila folders in her hand. Her demeanor was friendly and comfortable, not at all what they were expecting. "I'm Agent Stephanie Carter. Are you boys alright?" She asked with a look of genuine concern. "Can I get you something to eat or drink?"

"No." West sneered. He was hungry, but he wasn't about to eat anything from them- it could be laced with anything.

"That would be great!" Luke smiled.

"No problem." She nodded. "I'll get that going right away along with some warm clothing for you to change into. You must be cold." Luke looked down at his dirty, threadbare clothes and agreed. "You must also be wondering what will happen to you." She said tentatively. "We know that you are part of the rebellion and that you both have been given a drug that has restored your powers."

"No thanks to you." West growled.

She gave a sad smile. "I know what you must be thinking, but I'm not here to torture you or do experiments. You might not believe it, but we are just as tired of the war as you, and we recognize that conventional warfare won't solve the issue. We are moving toward an inclusive solution that recognizes your distinct gifts. There is another way to achieve peace."

"And what's that?" Luke asked cautiously.

"It's called the Chimera project, and we want you to join." She beamed. "It's a joint operation between the government and specials lead by those with abilities to broker peace and bring this conflict to an end. We are aware that if nothing is done, this will become a war of attrition and we don't want that. Both sides have suffered enough."

West wasn't at all impressed. "Why should we believe you?"

"Because I was the first." She smiled, but it was quickly blotted out by the soft glow that emanated from her entire body, becoming brighter until they were forced to look away from the blinding light. It was like staring into the sun. "I was once like you." Her voice called from the now fading glow. "I too was part of the slave system and I know what you've been through. I can promise you that if you join, your chips will be removed and you can use your full abilities as they were meant to be with no experiments. You will be well provided for. No more nights fearing for your life in the cold dark or scavenging for food. You can help bring peace."

"But we have to fight for you." West guessed.

"No, not fight." She gently corrected. "Talk. The project's goal is not annihilation, but negotiation- a mutually beneficial arrangement for all involved."

West was still skeptical, but Luke had heard enough. "Where do I sign up?"


	6. Connections

**A/N: Welcome to Deranged Pegasus, Icheishier, and RaylnnFrost! It is my duty to inform you that updates will be a bit slower from now on as I actually have a life seeing patients on a full time basis…lol. I will try to get one chapter up a week, but no promises. **

**Chapter 6- Connections **

"_The feeling of revolt will grow stronger every day among the peoples subjected to various degrees of exploitation, and they will take up arms to gain by force the rights which reason alone has not won them." –Che Guevara_

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Noah sat at his computer in his office with an intense scowl on his face, not wanting to believe the report he was reading on his screen. It was true he was a man of certitude that wasn't above rechecking facts and details almost ad nauseum, but on this occasion it was sheer disbelief that drove him to read the latest incoming missive several times over as though he expected it to change. He was really hoping it would…praying even.

"Here are the files you asked for, Sir." The young clerk smiled as he dropped a stack of tattered manila folders on his desk in a heap. "You know those are probably online in the department's system now. You don't have to dig up the paper copies from the basement." There was just a hint of condescension in his voice that perhaps suggested the regional director was not exactly tech savvy- a dinosaur, really.

Noah gave him a cold smile. "I know they are. I just wanted you to go down there and get them." He wanted the paper files so his viewing them couldn't be traced, but truthfully he just wasn't in the mood for the upstart's bullshit and he wasn't above throwing his authority in his face.

The clerk blanched a bit and weakly asked, "Did you hear the latest? One of the rebellion's top operatives got caught yesterday. Claire Bennet- she any relation to you?"

Although Noah knew the kid was probably joking, he couldn't be sure and he couldn't jeopardize anyone knowing that he and Claire were in any way connected. He regarded the young clerk with a deadly serious expression. "There are almost three million people in the United States with the last name of Smith. Just because two people have the same last name doesn't mean they are related." With a small, tense smile he sarcastically asked, "Don't you have mail to sort or something?"

The implication was clear that if he didn't find other tasks to work on, he would be digging for more tattered files in the racks of the bowels of the building….or something infinitely much worse. "Right." He nodded as he took leave.

Noah returned to the report on his desktop and frowned. Claire had been captured in Iowa and transported to a holding facility in northern Virginia for questioning and 'enhanced investigation' which he knew to be a euphemism for experimentation. His first instinct was to drive there himself and squeeze off as many rounds into as many people as he had to until he found her cell, but he realized that it was perhaps not the best plan. If he truly wanted to help her he had to be more tactful, and as the report was secretly forwarded to him by Nathan himself, he knew he would have at least one partner in the venture that he could trust. He knew of the holding facilities from Nathan, but he had never been in one nor did he know anything of the construction or layout, but he knew of one person that had intimate knowledge of such places: Sylar.

As he had reportedly taken down three on his own, they all had to have similar layouts for him to be able to get in and out so quickly. He and Sylar had a very long and tumultuous history, but if there was anyone that had a chance of getting to Claire in an expedient manner, it was the former watchmaker and perhaps Peter or Hiro could make the process even smoother if he could point them in the right direction. Even though the thought of asking the killer for help left a sour taste in his mouth, he was prepared to do whatever it took to save his Claire-Bear from the fate that awaited her. They would be merciless in their questioning and he couldn't bear the thought of her suffering in a government sponsored gulag. He couldn't risk directly helping her and realistically neither could Nathan, but he was prepared to throw himself on Sylar's mercy- if he ever had any. He had saved her once before from disappearing down Canfield's vortex without prompting, perhaps he could find it in himself to do it again despite the fact that he almost died at Bennet's own hands because of it. He knew Sylar would never forget or perhaps even forgive such a sleight so easily and he couldn't really blame him. He didn't believe it at the time, but perhaps he really was trying to turn a new leaf and he may have let his own hatred blind him and ruin it for everyone.

He flipped through the charts listlessly. There was no way Sylar would help him even if he fell at his feet begging. He would no doubt enjoy the show immensely, but ultimately it wouldn't move him and Noah knew this. He wasn't sure exactly what motivated Sylar these days, but his best bet may be to make an indirect appeal through the only two people that might still have a shred of influence with him- two people who had never really given him a reason to hate them and want them to suffer: Peter or Maria. Perhaps it would take both and he had the benefit of knowing that Peter would be on board for his niece without question and Maria also cared about her, so together they may be able to convince him to act on her behalf while he watched anxiously from the shadows. It was manipulative and dirty, but he was all in. It was a testament to what he would do as a father for his child, he just had to find Sylar and hope he could get through to him. No doubt he would find great irony in his predicament and maybe even taunt him or mock his pain if he somehow found out who was really doing the asking, but he was determined to try for his daughter's sake. He had to.

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Ando sat alone in a bar in Toronto watching the local news with a sense of sadness. The reports were all about the war raging in the United States and around the world. Everywhere specials were rising up in protest against mistreatment and some were more successful than others, which gave him hope, but the news from the US always seemed dire and he worried about Hiro and all the other specials he had come to know.

Every night he sat in the same bar at the same stool watching the same news program, always anxious that one night he might see someone he recognized among the many reports of casualties. He felt slightly guilty and tried to drown his misery in sake, but it only reminded him of the nights he and Hiro would go out after work for drinks and all the adventures that followed. He was lucky that he was provided with falsified paperwork by Maria's contacts upon arrival that made him a Canadian citizen and exempt and protected from the restrictive laws that governed those in his home country. Although the borders were closed, he could pass easily with his papers, but he never had the courage to go back.

He didn't know where Hiro was or how to go about finding him, but the last time the two had spoken they separated under stressful circumstances and said hurtful things they didn't mean. He wasn't sure that he would want to see him even if he could find him. He was so convinced that it was his destiny to fight in the war and it seemed like lunacy given everything they had experienced in the slave system. He himself was of the firm opinion that they paid their dues and were finally rewarded for their patience with freedom and relative security. There was no need to go marching back into the lion's mouth- they made it and they should leave well enough alone. Perhaps it was easier for Hiro because the nature of his power was such that it allowed him the possibility of escape should he be caught, but his own power was not as useful and it was far more dangerous for him.

He certainly cared about Peter, Matt, Mohinder, and perhaps even Sylar slightly but he wasn't prepared to die for them. Hiro might have been a different story and to his credit, he did follow him across the globe on the initially insane belief that his friend could bend space and time and that their future was predicted in a comic book. But he could only play the sidekick for so long and Hiro's sometimes demanding nature took its toll, leading to the parting of ways. It didn't mean he didn't think about his friend- and despite what had happened he did consider him a friend- and as of late he thought about him a lot.

He set his drink down on the bar with a weary sigh, prompting the woman next to him to comment, "You look like you need a friend."

He glanced at her and she was beautiful, but he just wasn't in the mood. "I had one." He mumbled miserably, "But we had an argument."

She laughed lightly and smiled. "True friends don't let squabbles get in the way. Sure you might fight from time to time, but you don't let it get between you. Good friends don't allow that to happen."

"I said some pretty mean things to him." He admitted sheepishly. "And so did he."

"Then that just means that you were close enough not to pull punches. Friendship isn't always about being polite, it can be about being brutally honest if that's what the other one needs to hear. It's not what you say that matters, it's how you say it. Were you trying to be mean or were you trying to help him?"

Ando looked stunned by the implication that he would intentionally be cruel to Hiro. "I was trying to help him make good decisions."

"Then if he's really your friend, he will know that and forgive you. It might hurt for a little while, but if what you had was truly worth keeping you shouldn't let it go to save face. The world is a crazy place right now and we all need good friends to count on."

It was like a light bulb went off in his head and he smiled relieved. He never considered that Hiro might have been just as miserable as he was the whole time. "That's good advice, thank you." He smiled. "Can I buy you a drink?"

She nodded with a sly smirk. "And then you can go find your friend before it's too late."

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Sylar glanced up curiously at Matt as he dropped a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him, making a few bits fall off onto the table. Mohinder was busy in the lab as usual and Peter had finally been shamed into getting some desperately needed sleep by Maria, leaving the two of them in the awkward position of eating lunch together.

"This was supposed to be you." Matt grumbled gesturing to the meal and plopping into his seat at the table as far away from Sylar as he could get.

"Right." Sylar said slowly, with a slight smirk on his lips. "But I had other plans."

"I know. I was there, remember?" He asked stabbing furiously at his eggs. "But it's always about you. You get what you want, and that's all that matters, right? Screw the rest of us."

Sylar lowered his eyes and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, gently cradling his wounded side. "It isn't always that way." He almost whispered. "I'm not always as selfish as you think I am."

His deep voice was laden with such sadness that it gave Matt pause. He made a few week attempts at harpooning more egg on his fork before he gave a weary sigh. "I…I guess you have been out there fighting for us." It took great effort for him to admit, "It's more than what I have been doing."

"Why is that?" He seemed genuinely interested, and not in his usual mockingly sarcastic way.

"I don't know. I just…I guess I don't really know how I can help."

Sylar gave a light nod of understanding. "Everyone has a part to play, perhaps you just haven't found yours. Not everyone can do what I do or what Maria and Mohinder does, but everyone can do something. You just have to find what your best at and apply it." He took a drink of his juice and squinted at the tartness on his tongue. He wondered if it was close to expiring. "What we don't need is more bystanders while the rest of us bleed our guts out, so do something even if it seems hopeless. Any action, even if it's the wrong one is better than none at all."

"I guess." Matt reluctantly granted. He knew it was futile to argue with a logic machine. "What's it like?" Sylar cocked his head and narrowed his eyes questioningly, prompting him to elaborate. "You know, being out there- doing what you do?"

Sylar paused to finish chewing his food before answering darkly, "About what you'd imagine it to be." Of all the things he pinned Matt for, a voyeuristic curiosity seeker wasn't one of them. He saw firsthand what his world was like when he worked the Walker case- he knew the things he was capable of.

"I know, but is it really as bad as people say it is?" He persisted.

Sylar gave a small sigh and his eyes grew dark. "You are sheltered here, more so than even the most fortunate of the specials who chose to fight. Look at me," he nearly hissed, gesturing to his side, "I'm almost invincible and this is what it's like out there. Every minute living in fear that it might be your last, sleeping when you can, eating whatever you can find, and always wondering if the person you just met that said they were your ally will stab you in the back the minute you turn around. It is every bit as bad as you've heard. My days are filled with running, killing, and trying to evade capture, and most of those days I feel like I'm fighting the entire war alone." He stopped to collect himself and let the fire in his eyes subside. In a calmer voice he continued, "It's war, Matt. It's everything they say and worse. Either you can stay here making eggs in relative safety or you can get out there and use your skill to help end this." He watched Matt carefully and cautiously asked, "You don't have your ability, do you?"

Matt shook his head miserably. "No, I don't. I chose not to. Unlike you, I don't get off on having one."

"My… 'getting off' aside, it is a matter of practicality." He had to exercise a great deal of restraint to ignore the backhanded comment. "Our powers are weapons that the other side lacks. It gives us an advantage they can never have and it's what has kept me alive. The future belongs to us, we are the next step in the evolutionary process. It's understandable that they would fight for their survival, but in the end its our destiny to replace the weaker species."

Matt's eyes flashed with disgust. "So that's it. You just want to wipe them all out like stomping on a cockroach?"

"No," Sylar corrected patiently, "I am perfectly willing to let them be to slowly die out as they inevitably will, but I will defend myself when attacked." He smiled slowly at the former cop. "Self-defense is still a viable motive, right?"

"I'm not a lawyer. It was up to the DA to decide and in this case, the government is the judge, jury and executioner so I don't think the odds are in your favor."

"They never really have been." He smirked. "But sometimes you have to take by force what is rightfully yours. Move, change, adapt and conquer."

Matt gestured to Sylar's side with his fork and a mouthful of egg. "Yeah, how's that working out for you?"

Sylar's fingers lightly traced the edges of his bandages under his shirt. "It's always a work in progress, Parkman. They have a new toy and now I have to evolve faster to overcome it, but I will." His dark eyes were resolute. "I have to."

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Two heavily armed guards paced the stark, dimly lit concrete hallways of the holding facility, peering through the large window of each brightly lit cell. Safety was the primary concern and each had assault rifles loaded with S2 ammunition as well as being outfitted with full riot gear. You just never knew what the beasts that were being held were capable of. The cells were checked every 10 minutes to ensure the occupants were still inside, locked up good and tight. Some had the potential to be more dangerous than others, but this floor housed mostly wayward specials that were either not classified as high risk or were recruits for the Chimera project. Still, there was no room for error.

They stopped at the first cell at the far end of the hall. "Claire Bennet- rapid cellular regeneration." One of the guards read from the dossier that hung by each cell to positively ID each occupant. He looked at the picture on the paper and then at the young woman curled up in the corner of the chilly room. "Looks like her."

"Yup." The other agreed.

The rooms were so brightly lit, Claire couldn't see out into the hallway unless she pressed her face up against the glass and shaded her eyes. Even then, she knew that the guards wore helmets with darkened face shields so they couldn't be identified even if she did see them. If they wandered a bit too close to the glass, she sometimes saw a faint shadow, and she thought she noted one. She was no fool. She knew what likely lay ahead of her and although she wouldn't feel any pain, her heart still lept into her throat each time she thought they had come for her. So far, she had been left utterly alone but she knew her hours were numbered.

She wrapped her arms around her legs tightly. The room was colder than perhaps it needed to be, but it was nothing worse than what she experienced out in the field. When she was captured, they took her cell phone and she hoped that somehow Rebel could disable it before they could trace it back to them. The network was the rebellion's primary lifeline and if it was hacked, it would all be over. Rebel seemed to know a lot of things, and she hoped that they somehow knew about her current situation. It seemed like a long shot. She was only one person among many who were fighting and she couldn't possibly believe that she was so special that her circumstances would merit notice. She wasn't Sylar or even Peter- very valuable pieces in the game that had to be protected at all cost. She was expendable, but she was also indestructible and that gave her hope that she might survive whatever was to come.

She rested her chin on her knees and her blonde hair fell into her eyes, but she didn't brush it away. It gave her a small curtain of privacy from the prying eyes of the guards. She had to assume they were always watching and she was careful not to give anything away- even her facial expressions had to be neutral. Behind her golden veil, she allowed the sadness she felt to creep into her blue eyes, although she vowed not to go so far as to cry. Rebel was right. She should have made an effort to contact her father.

Alone in her cell, she missed him terribly and she knew that he would move heaven and earth to rescue her if he knew that she was being held against her will. She closed her eyes and remembered growing up what it used to feel like to be wrapped in his strong yet gentle hugs, so completely enveloped in his adoration and she knew what it was to be fully and absolutely loved. Somehow she always knew in the back of her mind that he wasn't her real father, but even after he told her the truth it didn't seem to matter. He may not have contributed his DNA to her, but he was always there for her every step of the way. He couldn't have loved her more if he tried and while it was nice when she was a young child, it seemed at times overbearing as she entered her teen years. His insistence on secrecy and distance from others was confusing and often at odds with the busy social life of a young woman. But recently as she had matured and been exposed to the true horror of the world, she began to realize that he always had her best interest in mind even if it meant he had to lie to protect her. She wanted to hug him fiercely and tell him how much she loved him, but she knew that he too was in the game and she feared that she might never get the chance.

The guards moved on to the next cell. "West Rosen- flight." The guard turned to his partner incredulously. "Who the hell names their kid after a cardinal direction?"

The other one shrugged. "I don't know, but wouldn't it be kind of cool to fly like Superman?"

"I guess." He granted, looking into the cell. "He doesn't have much airspace in there, though. Looks like he's grounded."

West paced the floor along the far wall of the cell, constantly reminded of the fact that Luke wasn't there to reprimand him for it. In a way he understood his companion's desire for a more comfortable life, but he was angry at him for selling out the cause for his own needs. Luke didn't seem to get that he was just going to be used. The agents were liars and no matter what they said about wanting to end the war peacefully, they couldn't be trusted. Maybe he did know and just didn't care- if he was going to die perhaps he wanted his last days to be spent in relative comfort. He for one wasn't going to go out like that. Maybe they would kill him quickly, maybe they would do it slowly, but whatever his fate he was determined to face it like a man and know that he stood for something.

He knew it wasn't right to blame others for his situation, but he couldn't help but trace all of his problems back to Sylar. Sylar was almost a living god with all of his abilities and if he really was so goddamn powerful, why couldn't he just rain down his full fury and get it over with? He didn't care- that's why. He was laying on a beach in the south of France sipping wine and giving them all the finger while they all scrambled around like ants being burned with a magnifying glass. He was more or less going to live forever, so he could afford to wait it out- the bastard. And it was his arrogant, pejorative attitude that pushed Luke over the edge. If he just could have brought himself to thank them for saving his ass, Luke might not have been so quick to turn his back. Nothing overly dramatic like sending wine and roses, even just a small nod in his direction would have gone a long way to cement his loyalty. Just one little, miniscule gesture was all he needed and Sylar couldn't bring himself to give him the time of day.

His agitation made him pace faster. If there was one thing he could do before he died, it would be to travel back in time to the moment he and Luke discovered Sylar hanging in the barn. Either he would have insisted that they stay out in the storm chopping wood and let Jessup finish him off, or he would have pulled Sylar's chip out of his neck himself to watch him die screaming in agony. West wasn't by nature a violent person, but the world didn't need people like Sylar in it. He would do it to spare Luke the sting of betrayal, he would do it for every special that died believing that Sylar was fighting for them in this war, and he would do it to avenge Claire.

He paused and sat wearily on the hard cot to rest his head in his hands. If he ever found Claire again, the first thing he would do is apologize to her for saving the monster that hurt her. She might not forgive him and he probably deserved it, but he owed her that much.

The guards turned their attention to the end of the hall when two more of their colleagues yelled, "Open #3!" One of the men punched in a code on the pad next to West's cell and the heavy metal door swung open with a slight creak. The men were dragging a new resident between them by the arms, his head dangled listlessly and for all intents and purposes it looked like he was dead. The guards drug him past the threshold and let him fall to the cold floor with a thud. After the door closed with a resounding clang, the guard handed the patrol a sheet of paper.

"Damian Montgomery." The guard read as he approached the glass to take a look. The newest resident was still soaking wet from being blasted with cold water during the initial interrogation and tinges of blood seeped through his thin, standard issue pajamas at his shoulder and lower left thigh. The guard didn't need to read the dossier to know that he had been injected with a series of drugs to make him talk, to induce pain, and to finally make him nearly unconscious in order to make him easier for the guards to handle. They would wear off soon and like the others, he would start screaming and pounding on the glass, demanding to be released. This might go on for hours, but if he was really persistent it would buy him another shot of drugs that might make him sick or induce panic depending on what the doctor ordered. It served no real purpose other than to teach him to fear the guards and to elicit compliance. For now, being semiconscious was the best it would ever get for him for the duration of his stay.

The guard watched as the cold and perhaps shock set in and his newest charge began to involuntary shiver, drops of water pooling on the concrete from his wet, disheveled hair. His blue eyes were only partially open, but the guard could clearly see the mix of fear and confusion in them. His heart sank just a little when he realized that the information about his ability had been left blank. They didn't know what this new one could do, which meant that he was in for a very long round of physically grueling testing. The guard posted the paper next to his door with a slight sigh. Sometimes he really hated his job.


	7. Down the Rabbit Hole

**A/N: Hello to BoobsMagee! And there will be a special guest appearance just for RaylnnFrost…lol. You guys are all awesome!**

**Chapter 7- Down the Rabbit Hole**

"_Torture is banned, but in two-thirds of the world's countries it is still being committed in secret. Too many governments still allow wrongful imprisonment, murder or "disappearance" to be carried out by their officials with impunity."  
>-Peter Benenson<em>

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Maria sat a steaming cup of coffee on the lab table for Peter. He smiled gratefully at her as she took a seat opposite him. "Feeling any better?" She asked.

"Yeah." He nodded, but it sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. He slept as well as could be expected, but it was his soul that was weary and there was just no fixing that. There was just too much suffering in the world for him to try and cure alone and he was just starting to realize that. He took a sip of his hot coffee and felt it burn all the way down to his empty stomach. "My cell didn't go off while I was sleeping did it?"

She could tell that this was going to be a perpetual phobia for him, which was why she demanded he leave it with her while he slept in another room. She retrieved it from her pocket and slid it across the table to him. "No, but even if it did you have to know when to stop, Peter." She gently placed her hand on his and gave a light, supportive squeeze. "I know you feel responsible for the entire world, and you work incredibly hard to help everyone, but there's no shame in helping yourself from time to time."

He bit his lip and glanced down at the table guiltily. "I know, I just…"

"You want to save the world." She laughed. "Nathan wasn't kidding."

"No, he wasn't and he'd tell me the same thing you did but he wouldn't be so nice about it." He chuckled. His mood grew somber and his sad, hazel eyes looked at her pleadingly. "But what if just once, I was really needed and I didn't go? What if I was sleeping when Sylar paged me?"

She knew what he was getting at, but she couldn't allow him to play on her emotional attachment. He operated almost entirely on affect when what he needed was a little cold logic. "It will happen at some point." She warned matter of factly. "Peter, you can't go on trying to weigh one need over another. Either you are available or you aren't and there will come a time when someone will need you and you can't be there." She gave him a brave smile and another slight squeeze. "And if that time comes and it happens to be me that needs you, believe me when I tell you that I will understand if you aren't there. I _know_ you care- but sometimes you can care too much and Gabriel would definitely tell you that."

"No he wouldn't!" Peter laughed. "Even if the thought crossed his mind, he would never say it out loud. He would tell me how stupid or illogical I am at times, but he wouldn't accuse me of being too caring."

"Ok, maybe not in so many words." She giggled. "But you know what I mean. Anyway, you don't have to do it all alone, you know."

He set his cup down and squinted curiously at her. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she began with an impish grin, "I have a friend who knows someone that has a staff member who just so happens to have trained as a doctor." His eyebrows shot up in interest. "And I took the liberty of arranging a meeting for the two of you. I just thought you might appreciate a little extra help."

"A doctor, huh?" He smiled. "They must have trained before the system went into effect. No medical school would take a special."

Maria looked down at the table with a tight frown. "Yeah. See, here's the thing," she began, "she was in medical school when the system started, so she wasn't able to do a residency."

Peter shrugged nonchalantly. "Ok, but she finished her classes, right? She just didn't get a chance to practice full time."

"As far as I know she did. But there's one other thing…" she knew Peter probably wouldn't be bothered by the next bit of news, but she did feel compelled to be honest with him. "She's deaf."

"So what?" He grinned. "I can always read her thoughts if I have to. It won't be a problem for me. All I care about is that she knows what she's doing."

Maria gave a light laugh. "You can read her thoughts and she can read your lips. Sounds like the communication problem has been solved. Too bad I couldn't get the deal worked out earlier. You could have used her help with Gabriel." He glanced up at her somewhat surprised and she backpedaled, hoping she didn't inadvertently insult him. "I mean, you did a fine job with what you had. I just mean that you worked a long time on him. I guess he lived, that's all that matters."

"Yeah, I guess." He mumbled into his cup as he took another sip. "Where is he anyway?" He clearly wasn't on the table they were sharing.

"He's grabbing lunch with Matt." She yawned as she stretched. She snapped to attention when Peter abruptly stood up and made for the door. "Peter, where are you going?"

"I can't leave those two alone." He explained miserably. "They don't exactly get along and there's nothing to stop Sylar from killing him on principle."

"Wait, Peter, before you go I have to tell you something." She seemed tense and it piqued his interest. Matt would have to fend for himself a bit longer. "It's Claire."

His eyes narrowed in plain irritation to the point it almost frightened her. "What about her?" He asked in a dangerously low tone.

"Noah called me while you were sleeping." She explained as calmly as she could. "Claire was captured over the weekend and she's being held at a facility in Virginia." The absolute hardness in his eyes was foreign to her and it rivaled the one she saw in Sylar's. It clearly spoke to a hidden and intimate knowledge of what exactly went on in places such as that and it made her wonder what else he neglected to tell her about his past."Noah and Nathan can't help her, but he was hoping that we could talk Gabriel into it."

"He can't." He replied with a fierce shake of his head. "You saw him, Maria. He can't go marching in there and save the day when he can't even move a glass 6 feet." She thought she detected just a hint of guilt in his voice and she regretted insinuating that his patient might have had a better outcome if someone else worked on him.

"That's true," she admitted, "but according to Noah he does know a great deal about the facilities and he implied that he might have a personal motivation for helping." Peter glared at her as if she had called his mother a whore. She cautiously asked, "Is there more to that story?" She was getting used to the pattern of omission from both Peter and Noah.

"Isn't there always?" He asked sarcastically. He noted the way she seemed to feel embarrassed or ashamed for asking and he rubbed his face with a weary sigh. "I'm sorry, Maria. I didn't mean to go off like that."

"It's ok." She reassured him. "I think we all are under quite a bit of pressure."

He gave her a small smile in appreciation for her forgiveness. "Sylar took Claire's ability and then after he realized that he would more or less live forever, his perspective changed a bit. He realized that he couldn't go on forever alone and since then he's been trying in his own strangely schizoid way to make some kind of connection to her because he knows that we will be the only constants in his life. He and I have…" he gave a wide grin as he gestured aimlessly, "…some kind of understanding I guess, but Claire's been a bit more difficult. He saved her life once maybe because he felt some remorse for what he did to her and I'm guessing that's what Noah was talking about."

She gave a light chuckle and observed, "For a man that is thought to be the world's worst, most heartless serial killer, he seems to have an unusually high number of rescues under his belt."

"Yeah, I guess he does. Let's hope that we can convince him to do it again, but he will need help whether he wants it or not."

"Yours?" She guessed with a knowing smile.

"Who else?" He asked rhetorically as he turned to go. "There are some things I have to be around for, and this is one of them. What is it they say, no rest for the wicked?"

"I wouldn't say you're wicked."

"No, but I am guilty by association if you know what I mean." He replied as the door to the lab closed with a tight click of the automatic lock.

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Nathan threw the report down on his desk in absolute disgust. The papers went flying across the slick wooden surface and floated to the floor like fresh sheets of snow, but there was nothing beautiful or peaceful about it. He dropped into his chair and let his head fall into his hands in sheer frustration. He swore he felt himself age ten years in the last three minutes. Not only was Claire in captivity, but now Damian was as well. Senator McCaskey had the balls to send his intern to a holding facility on suspicion of being a special and he had the temerity to hand deliver the report himself with a smug smile. It was a power play of epic proportions and it put Nathan in a very bad situation.

He wasn't concerned for himself, of course. Through all of his dirty dealings he always made sure to leave the door open for a hasty exit should it all go sideways and plausible deniability had become the order of the day. He knew he was in no danger of censure from his colleagues even though the head of the specials project harboring a special as a staff member looked very bad on paper. He knew what he had to do should the press ever get wind of it, and they inevitably would- he would have to roll over on Damian the same way he did his own brother. He would first make a statement to the effect that Damian was only being questioned in connection to unsubstantiated reports of his possessing an ability. If things got more serious, he could always claim ignorance and say that his intern hid his ability all along, but it underlined the importance of sustained vigilance because specials were not to be trusted and they could infiltrate any system- even his own office. It was important to stick to the talking points to cement the public's perception that he was still every bit the patriot they thought him to be.

That was only half of his job. The other half was to work his connections in the resistance and within the governments of his own country and elsewhere to try and fix this whole mess. He had no doubt that McCaskey did it as retribution for the rendition of his intern the previous year and perhaps even as an attempt to assert power over his budgetary discretion, but Nathan was made of tougher stuff and was not about to acquiesce. If there was anything in this world that he excelled at it was playing opossum and if he had to look like he was sufficiently kowtowing to stroke the senior senator's ego, then that's what he would do if it allowed him more freedom to work on his personal agenda. His entire existence had become filled with disingenuous smiles and perceived alliances, so it was nothing new to him and the extra dirt on his hands would be almost imperceptible compared to what he already had.

He reached out to Noah to warn him of Claire's capture and he was worried about her, but to a lesser degree than he was Damian. Claire was stronger than people gave her credit for. Her innocent looks could be greatly deceiving and her previous experience through knowledge of both of her father's work would inoculate her against the shock tactics that were so useful in breaking people. Even if the game had changed somewhat, she knew on some level what to expect- Damian had no clue what lie in his immediate future and he would no doubt be terrified when faced with what in most civilized industrial nations would be considered outright torture.

He sat back in his chair and stared blankly at the ceiling. Damian wasn't one that was very good at lying, it just didn't seem to be in his nature so when he denied having an ability in the hospital, he believed him. Yet in the report, it stated that blood was taken from the intern and he was found to have the decisive genetic mutation that indicated he did. It was possible that he did have an ability and just didn't know about it; Peter was in his mid 20's when he got it in his head that he could fly and as far as he knew, Sylar was past 30 when his manifested, so perhaps it was a latent thing that Damian himself had yet to discover. He was no geneticist, but from what little he gleaned through conversations with Mohinder, one's genes were not necessarily their destiny and sometimes it took an environmental catalyst to flip the switch. Therefore, there were people out in the world that had the mutation but no abilities and he held on to the hope that this was the case for his intern. If so, he could still step up and save him, but if he did have an ability it more or less made him as untouchable as Peter and Claire.

Thoughts spun in his head wildly as he lined up the facts and made contingency plans for how he would deal with the new situation. In the end, he decided he could safely use his influence to inquire as to exactly where Damian was being held and perhaps even ask for details under the guise of trying to shore up the security holes in his office so no such breach could occur again. He could then pass the information on to the resistance so they could best decide how to resolve the problem. It wasn't exactly his style to deal with middlemen, but in this case the less he knew the better. Plausible deniability. But first things first: he had to call Maria and find out as much as he could about his intern before acting. As a lawyer, he knew the devil always lie in the details and he planned on going in armed to the teeth with as much information as he could. She had a reason for recommending him for the job and he wanted to know why.

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Damian lie curled into the fetal position on his cot, shivering from being wet, cold, and scared. The entire room smelled too sterile and the lights were painfully bright- almost as if they were meant to make sure there was not one shadow in which to hide. His heart exploded in his chest every time he heard clanging sounds in the hallway and he could only guess it came from heavy steel doors like his own. He wondered when they would come for him to…he had no idea why he was there or what he was being held for.

After Senator Petrelli left his hospital room, a swarm of what looked like riot police stormed in and held him down while he was injected with something that made him sleepy and he barely remembered being moved, but he did remember waking up at one point laying on the floor of a vehicle blindfolded and handcuffed. It was his mistake to make a few disoriented sounds, because when his kidnappers discovered he had woken, he felt the sharp prick of a needle and he was out again. He was rudely brought around by the sharp sting of high pressured, ice cold water being blasted at him from what felt like a fire hose. It was the single most uncomfortable feeling he had ever experienced: he felt like he was simultaneously on fire and drowning and no matter how he turned to try and shelter himself from the relentless onslaught, he couldn't find any relief until they were satisfied that he had been thoroughly soaked and intimidated and he was left in a dripping, panting heap on the floor. He meekly put on the thin clothing he was provided with shaking hands under the careful watch of two guards with very large guns pointed at him and he was ushered into what looked like an interrogation room- the windowless, cement block confines looking all the more sparse by the steel table and two chairs that was the only furniture. He patiently gave his name and a brief description of what he knew about his circumstances to a disembodied voice over a loudspeaker before once again being subdued and injected. Given his experience so far, he had no reason to hope that things would get any better.

He did wonder about his constitutional rights. Surely he had to be informed of why he was being held and if charges against him were imminent. He didn't think that the recent turn of events had anything to do with the mysterious deaths of the men who attacked him because his cell was nothing like the county jail. He hadn't been offered a phone call, no opportunity to request a lawyer, and outside of his teleinterview, no human contact other than being restrained. It all spoke of something much bigger than the usual channels of justice and he felt as though he were being railroaded, but had no chance of voicing his opposition. His muscles were beginning to ache from the constant shivering and he pulled his knees in tighter in an effort to conserve what precious little body heat he was able to produce. His wounds were sore and he was sure the wet bandages weren't good for him, but if he wasn't being granted even the most basic human rights he had no expectation for medical care. His only option was to remove them, but that might end up being worse. The room was so cold, he couldn't imagine any virus or bacteria being able to survive, but it would just be his luck to pick something up. He would consider himself lucky if he escaped without getting pneumonia.

He gave a small despondent sigh and wondered if it would be futile to throw out Senator Petrelli's name should another human ever come close enough to him. He blinked slowly when it occurred to him that perhaps he was the reason he was there. His boss did seem to harbor some suspicion that he had some sort of ability- maybe he didn't believe him when he said he didn't. He picked up his head and looked around while his heart raced when he realized that he was probably being held in a facility- the very same ones he read about in reports. The reports were more about the people they held rather than the places themselves, but it all seemed to fit and his stomach sank deep into his gut. Very few people knew about them and for all intents and purposes, he might as well have fallen off the face of the earth for anyone who might be looking for him. Suddenly he felt so very alone and very vulnerable. He instinctually curled up tighter.

The door to his room swung open with great protest and four guards entered followed by a man in a white lab coat and a younger woman in a sharp business suit. The guards pried his limbs apart and wrapped leather straps around his wrists and ankles to restrain him to his cot. The man who appeared to be a doctor looked on with a bored expression, but the woman was visibly bothered by the brute force with which he was handled and she looked away with a frown on her face until they were finished. The guards waited by the door, arms behind their backs like soldiers awaiting battle while the doctor walked a slow circle around his bed reading a chart. His voice was flat and all business. "Damian Montgomery. A 24 year old congressional intern in Nathan Petrelli's office no less." He seemed amused by that fact and let a small, sarcastic chuckle slip past his tightly drawn lips. "That's ironic."

"Why am I being held here?" Damian asked, trying to keep the panic he felt from echoing in his voice.

The doctor looked down at him and he clearly wasn't bemused. "I was hoping you would tell me that. But, like so many others I'm sure you have a good cover story. Just don't deny what we both know to be true because I don't have patience for liars." He warned.

"I don't know what you want me to say." He nearly pleaded. "I have no idea why I'm here."

The doctor sighed and scribbled something on his clipboard with a sour look on his face. "Fine." He grumbled. "I gave you a chance, but you want to do it the hard way." He stopped writing and removed a syringe from his pocket. He jabbed it into his unwilling patient's arm with no care as to whether or not it was necessary. "I get paid by the hour. And as much as I would like the overtime, I have courtside seats at tonight's basketball game, so we'll just cut to the chase."

A slow, burning pain wound its way up Damian's arm and into his body with an increasing intensity that immediately made him clench his teeth and break out into a sweat. "What did you do to me?" He gasped while it felt like his body was on fire from the inside.

"Sodium chloride." The doctor responded dispassionately. "A natural electrolyte most people get through diet. Get a little too much and you get thirsty. Get a little more and your heart starts palpitating. Add a few more drops and…" he made a sweeping gesture over his patient's suffering body, "voila." He let his hand fall into his lap and he locked eyes with his victim. "Now tell me what you can do or you get a little more. Keep in mind that this is the same drug that's used in lethal injections." He leaned in menacingly and cocked his head. "You tell me how much more you think you can take before you beg me to kill you."

"God, please!" Damian begged, trying franticly to free his hands. "I'll tell you what you want to hear, just make it stop!"

"What I want to hear," the doctor ground out patiently, "is the truth."

"I don't know!" He cried between breaths. His wide blue eyes were wild with pain and desperation. "Please, I don't know why I'm here. Whatever I did, I 'm sorry."

The doctor looked back at the guards and gave a sarcastic shrug. "He says he's sorry." A few of the men chuckled.

"He doesn't know anything." The woman spoke up, clearly disgusted with the way things were going. "Torturing him isn't going to help."

The doctor regarded her with a disappointed glare. "It always helps." He disagreed. "It's just a matter of time, Agent Carter. I know you're new around here, but you can't fall in love with every pretty boy or girl that comes through here. You get your recruits after I get to break them. If you can't handle it, I suggest you go candy stripe a cancer ward and leave the war to people who have the guts for it."

She held her head high and took one last look at the new arrival before walking out the door and down the hall. She didn't get to the end of it before his screams echoed off the walls and she closed her eyes in terror.


	8. Visitors

**Chapter 8- Visitors**

"_Congress's definition of torture in those laws - the infliction of severe mental or physical pain - leaves room for interrogation methods that go beyond polite conversation."  
>-John Yoo<em>

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Ando bounced his leg nervously as he stared down at his cell phone. It took nearly an entire bottle of sake to get him to that point, but he wasn't sure if the nausea he felt was due to the drink or his own anxiety. He knew it shouldn't have been that hard, but he stared at the phone as his finger hovered over the keypad and he read his text message for the hundredth time. "I'M SORRY. WE SHOULD…" He licked his lips. Should what? Get together for drinks? Talk? Do the limbo? He couldn't think of a good ending, although the message seemed to start well enough. He was sorry for what happened and for some of the things he said, but he stood by his original intent and he wasn't sure that his overall view on the war had changed. He began to wonder if it was a bad idea.

He was sure that Hiro was probably busy fighting and didn't have time to check his messages anyway. Besides, why did it always have to be him to say he was sorry? Hiro had months to come around, but his silence on the matter was deafening. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if it was even possible for the two of them to remain friends if they weren't exactly united on the topic of war. They had always been on the same team, engaging in the same missions even if they had minor disagreements along the way. But was that even possible now that there was so much at stake? It seemed fine enough when the two of them were road tripping to Texas and Vegas on the say so of an indie comic book, but the consequences were serious. People were dying and disappearing and it only seemed that it would get worse.

He swallowed and thought hard. He had a choice to make- he could stay in Canada and remain safe while Hiro possibly died alone, or he could jump back into the fray and at least know that if he died he did it being a good friend, which would be an honorable thing. His fingers typed with great speed and he quickly hit the send button before he had too much time to think about it. "I'M SORRY. WE SHOULD DO THIS TOGETHER."

He blinked in surprise when Hiro responded immediately- in person. "I was about to give up," he smiled as he pushed his glasses up on his face, "but I knew you had more honor than a coward."

Ando nearly jumped out of his skin. "Hiro!" He shouted with a relieved smile at the sight of his friend. He quickly fell back into the familiar Japanese banter. "How did you know where I was?"

"Foursquare." He shrugged gesturing to his friend's phone. "You checked in before you texted me. Congratulations on being mayor of the bar." Even though it meant that his friend spent more time at the establishment than anyone else, he felt it good practice to acknowledge his accomplishment even if it was a bit pathetic. "So, are you ready to join the mission?" _And do something more important with your life…_

Ando looked tense. "I don't want to fight, Hiro." He said miserably. "But I will go."

Hiro understood it better than his friend could have imagined and he gave a slight nod. "Not all battle is done on the field, but to wait for luck is the same as waiting for death. Your brothers and sisters need you, and it is fortunate that you come now."

"Why?" He asked mystified. There was a sudden change in his friend that he had never quite seen before. It was as if all the joy was gone from him and all that was left was an intense, world weary man.

"Claire Bennet was my partner." He responded darkly. "She is missing and I can't find her."

Ando's heart sank. "Has she been captured?" He knew from news reports that it happened a lot and he could only imagine what they couldn't report on.

"I don't know, but I can't call or message her. Her phone is out of service." He removed his phone from his pocket and began typing a message. "The only person who might know would be Rebel."

Ando furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Who's Rebel?"

Hiro grinned. "I have no idea."

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Claire playfully tossed her glossy, red apple into the air time and again in an effort to stay amused, but it only lasted for so long. Her lunch had been delivered through a slot in the door by hands covered in black gloves. Every effort to obscure her captor's humanity had been made down to covering every millimeter of exposed skin to deidentify them. They never spoke to her and they tried to maintain as little contact as possible. It was like being in solitary confinement and it was absurd. She understood it for some specials like her mother who could shoot fire or Sylar who could kill in an astounding variation of ways, but her power was solely her own- she couldn't harm anyone with her ability and she wasn't particularly physically intimidating. It was likely standard protocol, but in her case it was entirely unnecessary. That's why she was surprised when her door opened and a woman entered alone.

"Hello, Claire." The woman smiled warmly.

Claire wasn't as naive as she looked and she wasn't about to buy the good cop, bad cop routine. "Who are you?" She asked with just a hint of vinegar in her voice.

"Stephanie Carter." The woman replied. "I am an agent here. I was hoping I could talk to you."

"You can talk all you want." Claire lightly responded. "But it will probably be a one sided conversation."

Agent Carter nodded sadly. "I can understand why you might be a little hesitant to speak with me, but I wanted to do things differently. I don't want to hurt you, Claire, that's not why I'm here."

Claire gave her a steely look and flatly said, "You couldn't even if you wanted to."

"Your power, right?" Carter checked as she flipped through her folder. "You are a regen, but you were attacked by Sylar in your home in Costa Verde, California. Since that time you haven't had the ability to sense pain." She closed the folder and gave her a sympathetic look. "Either he did it on purpose or it was a careless mistake on his part, but he has permanently damaged you, Claire. He has hurt a lot of people. We could end this war if we could find him."

"Why?" She laughed incredulously. "So you can throw him in here? Experiment on him? It won't work, you know. Better people have tried and failed…" she narrowed her eyes and added, "miserably."

Agent Carter sat gingerly on the edge of her cot. "Claire, like you I too have an ability and I don't want to see any more of our kind suffer and die. That's why I took this job. Even you have to realize that people like Sylar are different from us. The world can accept those with abilities, people like you and I, if they can see that we are ordinary people that happen to be gifted with extraordinary skills. But it's specials like Sylar who are a danger not only to us, but the entire world. You can help end the war not by fighting the government, but by helping us reconcile our kind with ordinary citizens." She paused and lowered her voice almost to a whisper. "I'll tell you this, Claire. You were brought here as a proxy for Sylar. The government is developing a secret weapon that will kill him and other regens like you. I don't want to see you have to suffer for him, so I changed your orders."

"To what?" She asked suspiciously.

"My program- the Chimera project. I have a person down the hall from you who just got here. We don't know anything about him, even after several rounds of testing." She looked pleadingly at the former cheerleader. "I don't think he has any idea of his ability, but they will kill him if they can't get answers."

"So what do you want me to do about it?" This sounded fishy to be sure.

"Just talk to him. Maybe he will feel more comfortable with another special." She gave a small smile and added, "Even if he doesn't know anything, the two of you might enjoy the company." She glanced around at the drab cement walls. "It's got to be better than being in here all alone."

"And then what? You use the information against him? Against us?" She guessed none too pleased to be pegged for a turncoat.

"No, Claire." Carter sighed. "My purpose is to save his life, not hasten the end of it. My program has certain…perks…for those who participate. It's not an 'us vs. them' mentality that will win this war and the project's goal is to integrate specials, not destroy them."

"Except for Sylar." She nodded bitterly as she stood up. "I'll go talk to this person, but you are out of luck because I don't know where Sylar is. I haven't seen or talked to him since the war started." She noted the small smile that appeared fleetingly across the agent's lips and she followed her out the door and into the hallway of the facility. She was immediately pushed aside by a gurney with a body on it covered in a white sheet. The paramedic gave her a wary look and continued down the hall while she glanced in the direction that he came. She paused only briefly when she passed the cell next to hers and spotted West pacing by the far wall. She stumbled despite herself and Carter noticed.

She looked knowingly at Claire and then at West. "Do you know him?" She asked.

"No," Claire shook her head, "I…I just thought I was the only one here." It wasn't a terribly good lie, but it was at least somewhat believable. She couldn't let them know that there was any connection between them least they try to use it to their advantage. Carter didn't seem to entirely believe her, but she let it go and led her into the last cell of the corridor. She stopped just inside the threshold and held her breath at the sight of the young man's body strapped to his cot- limp and unaware that he had visitors. His lunch tray sat untouched on the floor and just on the other side of the bed lie another body covered by a sheet.

"This is Damian." Carter gestured to the room's occupant. "We'll have your things brought in shortly." She noticed the remaining body and seemed disturbed. "I'm sorry, I was told that they were ready." She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "Obviously not."

Claire was listening, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from her supposed new friend. "Wait…what?" She asked confused. "You said I had to talk to him, not stay in here!" Suddenly it was shades of Sylar and the room felt claustrophobic.

"We thought it best that you have plenty of time to develop trust." She said quietly.

"I'm not staying here." She declared. "Did he kill those people? I'm not doing this!"

"We don't know." Carter replied honestly. "But you will be fine."

Claire was almost enraged when it all finally clicked. Her voice was cold and flat. "Because I won't die no matter what he does. An immortal lab rat." All she got was a slightly apologetic smile as Carter exited the room and she was left standing there with an unconscious man. She should have known better than to fall for her lies. She cautiously approached the cot and looked down at him. He looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was pale as death, making the deep bruises in his elbows where he had received countless injections dark as ink splots on paper. His lips were slightly parted and cracked from dehydration, but there was nothing she could do for him but sit and wait for him to wake up. There wasn't going to be much conversation for the time being, that much was clear. She sat in the corner of the room with her knees drawn to her chest and her eyes locked on him. She barely noticed when the paramedic returned to drag the remaining body out of the room by the ankles, one arm slipping from under the sheet as if were waving one last goodbye. She might have been curious to know that the victim was wearing a white lab coat.

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Peter opened the door to the Siegel estate and blinked several times at the visitor. Ever so slowly, his face began to contort almost spasmodically as he tried to maintain his decorum, but he was just so surprised and elated he couldn't keep it together and he broke out into a wide smile. "Nathan?" He laughed, half expecting it to be a joke of some kind. He looked past his brother out into the drive expecting to see a fleet of black government cars with little American flags waving gently in the evening breeze, but there were none.

"Pete." Nathan smiled at his haggard looking brother. "You look…" he knew he should be tactful, but it was his brother. "…you look like hell."

Peter squinted at him and smirked. "You look old. Get in here before someone sees you." Nathan graciously bowed and waited for him to shut the door before wrapping his younger brother in a friendly bear hug. "God, I missed you, Pete." He confessed, giving him an extra hard squeeze to emphasize his point.

"Thanks." He gasped. It felt like he was being suffocated by a boa constrictor. When he finally let him go and he caught his breath again, he asked, "Does Maria know you're here? I'm sure she would have told me…"

"No, she doesn't know." He replied, giving him a sly grin. "Neither does my security team, so unfortunately we have to keep this short."

Peter tried not to look disappointed, but he should have known from the lack of secret service agents that something was amiss. "So…you…you flew here?" He asked amused.

"Yeah, I did." Nathan nodded, a little irritated that Peter found it funny that the head of the specials project used a hidden ability to get himself there.

"Pretty risky." Peter commended. "I'll take you back. It's faster and no one will see you."

Nathan gave him a small nod of thanks. "So how have you been?" He asked genuinely concerned. "I haven't heard from you since…" he couldn't bring himself to finish his thought.

Peter quickly caught on to his brother's discomfort. "I'm doing ok." He smiled warmly. "Partly thanks to you, I hear." Nathan gave him a tight smile. He wouldn't admit he had a hand in it and he could never take a compliment. He was happy working in the shadows so long as was able to help those he cared most about. "Anyway, Maria's in the lab with Mohinder and Sylar."

Nathan's eyes widened slightly. "Sylar's _here_? Why?" He hadn't heard from him since they left England and he could only imagine the killer was less than happy with the way things were going, but he didn't really want to have an in depth discussion about it, let alone be caught in the same house with the very man he was tasked with finding.

"I brought him here." Peter explained while he led him to the secured door to the lab. "That little S2 project you have going really does wonders. It almost killed him."

"Really?" He asked intrigued. "And it isn't my project, Pete. It's Senator McCaskey's."

"Whatever." Peter mumbled as he punched in the access code on the keypad. Semantics really didn't matter to him anymore. "He's not the only one out there putting his head on the chopping block for this, you know. He's just lucky enough to have survived it."

Nathan looked around the lab as he descended the stairs. He knew that Maria had a secret operation going on and he also knew she was a woman of means, but her lab was quite impressive for a private endeavor. She and Mohinder were at a blackboard chatting softly amongst themselves while Sylar sat at a table looking on as though he were trying to figure out the diagram hastily drawn on the board in bright white chalk. He was also the first to notice the new arrivals and he regarded Nathan with an arched eyebrow. Maybe it was the harsh lighting, but Nathan thought his ultimate weapon looked a little paler than he remembered, making his dark eyes all the more menacing.

"Maria," Peter called cheerily, "you have a visitor."

She turned and smiled. "Nathan! How nice to see you. I didn't know you were coming."

"I apologize," he smoothly deflected, "I should have called, but I wanted this to be as low profile as possible. I hope you understand."

"Of course." She agreed. "I just would have had dinner ready, or something more hospitable. All I can offer you is a drink."

"Thank you, but I probably shouldn't drink and fly." He chuckled. Peter and Mohinder smiled at the joke, but Sylar remained stubbornly sour. "Anyway, I was hoping we could make this quick if you have a minute."

"I heard about Claire, I'm sorry." She consoled.

Mohinder and Sylar looked at her slightly alarmed and it was clear that not everyone in the room was on the same page. "What has happened to Claire?" Mohinder asked with a sense of dread.

"She was captured." Nathan confirmed. "But I am hopeful that we can rectify that." He gave a sidelong glance to Sylar who held his stare stonily. "Sylar, I understand you have had something of a setback."

"You could say that." He replied sarcastically. "But I too am hopeful that it will be rectified."

"I understand your frustration, but you have the best shot at helping us get her back. And it's more than that." He gave a forlorn look to Maria. "Why didn't you tell me Damian had an ability when you recommended him as an intern in my office?"

She looked shocked. "He doesn't. No one in his family does. They are part of the ladder, but they are like me; no abilities but a conviction that the system was unjust."

"Well, apparently he does." He sighed. "And now he's being held in the same facility as Claire."

"What will happen to him?" She asked hesitantly. "He's a good kid, Nathan. I asked you to take him because all his life he has been overlooked and I thought maybe it would be a good experience for him. He's bright, he just needs someone to mentor him."

Nathan looked absolutely miserable. She was right, Damian was a good kid and he was starting to get a sense of that right before he was snatched from his hospital bed. He had a lot of potential and maybe could have been great at something if he wasn't so easy to ignore. "His future isn't bright." He quietly admitted. "They will torture him until he breaks or dies. Not because of his ability- whatever it's supposed to be- but because of me."

Maria blanched at his honest assessment. "Why you?"

"Because of who he is." Sylar summed up grimly. "They will make an example of him."

"We can't let that happen." Peter declared. "We have to get him and Claire out. Where are they?"

"At a facility in northern Virginia. But this is serious, Pete. They have S2 in all guns now and soon they will have a perfected formula thanks to the blood Sylar left on his last mission."

"I'll try to be less messy next time I'm shot point blank with a 50 caliber assault rifle." Sylar snarked. "Perhaps use my telekinesis to keep my blood and guts from flying everywhere."

"I'm sure that's not what he was implying." Mohinder said gently. "I think he's just urging caution. We can't afford to lose either you or Peter."

He gave a slight nod and his voice was eerily calm. "I can get her and this other kid out. I have a plan." It was music to Nathan's ears and he couldn't wait to update Noah.


	9. New Kid on the Block

**Chapter 9- New Kid on the Block**

"_It isn't until you begin to fight in your own cause that you become really committed to winning and become a genuine ally of other people struggling for their freedom."__  
><em>_-Robin Morgan_

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Peter was absolutely mystified, and so was Matt. The only difference was, Matt wasn't afraid to say so. "What?" He almost laughed. "You can't be serious."

"I am." Sylar replied patiently. "This is the moment you have been waiting for, Parkman. A chance to be the hero. This is almost perfectly designed for you." He certainly had a way with words and he could be quite convincing when he needed to be, but he just wasn't in the mood to play motivational speaker or therapist for Matt's almost debilitating neuroses when the moment called for quick and decisive action. "You wanted a moment to shine and help the cause, so here it is- gift wrapped with a nice, pretty bow."

"It does make sense." Peter shrugged almost apologetically. He could understand Matt's reservations. He had been out there on the front and seen firsthand what went on and so had Sylar, but for a first timer, it was probably a grim prospect.

"Of course it makes sense- look who came up with it!" Matt scoffed gesturing to the watchmaker. "I'm just not sure it's the best idea."

Sylar pursed his lips in irritation. "Do you have a better one? If so, we'd all love to hear it." After a moment of silence, he gave a small smile. "If you're afraid to go out there, just say so. I'm sure you'll be content staying here making omelets."

Matt did not appreciate his sense of humor. "Yes I'm afraid, ok? Only a crazy person wouldn't be- or people like the two of you because it doesn't matter if you get your asses shot off, you'll grow another."

"It's not that easy." Peter said somberly. "Not anymore. Not for us, or you, or anybody. Seriously, Matt, if you don't want to go, it's cool. Really. Knowing him," he gave a slight nod in Sylar's direction, "he's already come up with plans B, C, and D anyway. You do what you think is right." As a conscientious objector himself, he genuinely meant it. Furthermore, he was well aware that Sylar was slightly anal and would have probably already counted on the fact that Matt would decline his offer. He probably just wanted to make him more or less admit that he was a coward for his own satisfaction. It was just his personality and it wasn't worth arguing about anymore.

"It's not that I don't want to," Matt sighed, "It's just…I just don't know that I can help you the way you want me to."

"We all have sacrifices to make." Sylar nearly growled. In his mind, he had perhaps made more than anyone. He reached into his pants pocket and removed two syringes filled with serum and held them up. "I no longer have my full abilities, Parkman. I don't know what this will do to me, but I'm willing to find out." He held one of the needles out to the former cop with a dead serious expression. "Are you?"

"Wait." Peter held up his hands to stop the potential medical nightmare. "If you guys are going to do this, I can't watch you both. I'm going to need help."

"So watch him." Sylar's dark eyes flicked toward Matt. "I will probably be fine." There was just a hint of genuine uncertainty in his voice, but Peter was astute enough to catch it.

"You don't know that. You said yourself that you didn't know what would happen, but I do." He gave his former nemesis a guilty glare. "Remember when you woke up you asked me if I gave you anything?" He waited for Sylar's eyes to settle on him and he noted the slight fear and dread in them. "I did. I had to. When we gave you the second shot of serum, you had all kinds of bad reactions to it. We never tested that high a dose before and we just assumed that your healing ability would take care of it, but it wasn't working." He expected Sylar to become angry or at least express some kind of indignation, but he remained perfectly still and fixated on him, breathing lightly and patiently waiting for the rest of the story. He could have been staring directly a brick wall for all the intensity of his facial expression and it was a little unnerving, but it was consistent with his nature not to jump to conclusions until he had a sufficient number of facts to do so. "I gave you a hefty dose of drugs that knocked you out so you wouldn't remember any of it. But I had to keep you under because every time you woke up, you usually screamed in pain because it seems that the serum reacts with whatever mechanism the power works off of and you have a lot. Headaches, nerve pain, muscle spasms, burns, you name it you had it. I think your eyes stared bleeding at one point." Matt visibly flinched at his point blank yet completely dispassionate description.

Sylar's eyes fell to the ground as he considered what he'd suspected all along. He remembered waking several times and the way he always felt as though he were suspended in a hellish semiconscious limbo. It always felt so heavy and unnatural and now he knew why, but he didn't recall being in pain and for that he was thankful. Peter had done a fair job in choosing a drug that would make him forget about the torment if he couldn't be entirely unconscious. He glanced at the needle in his hand and replied, "Then you will need help because I can't go- not like this." He looked down at his own, mortal body as if it were abnormal and defective to hurt and bleed like a common human.

Peter seemed to understand as he gave the once demigod a soft nod. "Give me 15 minutes, ok?" He didn't plan on things going the way they were, but he wasn't about to knowingly put anyone at risk. "Just stay here and I'll be right back." Sylar didn't look pleased at the delay, but Peter knew he was a reasonable man and although he might not like it, he would allow sensibility to rule the day. Peter slowly closed his eyes and vanished.

He opened them to find himself within a few hundred yards of a beautiful, Tudor style mansion and he knew he was in the right place. When Maria told him about his future colleague, she showed him where her 'friend' lived on Google Maps and together they admired the very same house he saw in Streetview. He smirked and wondered if the giant tech company had his applications in mind. He cautiously approached the door and only after he rang the doorbell did it occur to him that he perhaps should have asked Maria to call ahead for him. They may have been in on the plan, but they didn't know him from Adam- or a complete stranger who just happened to appear out of thin air on their doorstep for that matter. An older, heavy set woman opened the door and smiled at him pleasantly. "Can I help you?"

He reflexively smiled in return, although his was tinged with embarrassment. "Hi…I um…" he frowned nervously while he tried to pull himself together. "I'm Peter, Maria Siegel's assistant." It sounded official enough and despite his new occupation as battlefield medic, it still was true in principle.

Thankfully, the woman's eyes lit up in recognition. "Yes, Peter. She told us all about you." She chuckled lightly and it made her belly giggle in a way that made him feel comfortable as though he were speaking to his own grandmother. "You are a bit early, aren't you?"

He scratched the back of his neck and grinned. She pegged him for exactly what he was: nervous and a bit hasty. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"Better early than late. Come on in." She laughed as she placed her meaty hand on his shoulder to guide him into the house. He couldn't help but be a bit amazed at how interactive she was with someone who was a slave. In his part of the country, one was never so bold to treat slaves as humans, let alone equals and that was even truer since the war began. He still wore his bracelet even though he was inspired by Sylar to remove his own chip after he chose to keep his abilities in the wake of the Jessup incident. It was perhaps the most painful thing he had ever done- to himself no less- but there was no denying that it was a good decision. He could no longer be tracked by the system, yet so long as he wore his bracelet, it allowed him to pass easily between the two worlds. "I assume you're here for Emma."

"I am." He confirmed. Suddenly he felt as though he were picking up a woman he'd never met for a first date at her parent's house. Perhaps he should have brought flowers.

The older woman smiled, but her demeanor seemed world weary. "Trouble is afoot, right? Is that what brought you here?"

She had his number. "Yes." He hung his head slightly. "I have two friends that will need her help and I can only do so much on my own."

"There are a lot more out there in this mess than your two friends." She sighed despondently. "Emma's ability isn't one that's suited for this war, Peter. She can't move things with her mind or create explosions at will, so when she told me she wanted to be a part of the resistance I was afraid." She held his gaze with a fierce determination that gave him pause. "I still am. She's a wonderful person, very sweet and caring, but she's also hard headed and I didn't have the heart to tell her she couldn't join even though her disability could very well get her killed out there. Maria tells me you are a trustworthy person, responsible to a fault and I'm going to hold you to that. She can be a great help to you, Peter, but she's no good to anyone dead."

He quickly licked his lips and his throat went dry. "I understand." He couldn't promise her that he could always protect her and prevent all harm, although he would certainly try his best.

The woman took his hand in hers and gave it a few light and friendly pats as she smiled. "Alright then, as long as we understand each other." She let his hand go and gestured for him to follow. "Now, the two of you can come and go as you please." She stopped by a small broom closet under a staircase. "But when you do, I want you to use this room. You never know who might be here in the house, but I'm sure you're used to always sneaking around and watching your back."

"Unfortunately." He mumbled under his breath. He understood why the rule was in place, but still he hated feeling like he was up to no good for using his natural talents. Not everybody used their abilities strictly for personal gain, unlike some people he knew.

He trailed her into the kitchen that was laughably decorated in a farmyard duck motif, but it somehow fit her personality. Standing by the sink was a blonde woman with her back to them while she watered some plants in the windowsill. He jumped slightly when the portly old woman stomped her foot on the floor. The woman turned expectantly and he realized that although the young doctor couldn't hear, she could feel the vibration of the older woman's attempt to get her attention. She gave a friendly smile and fixed her eyes on her owner's lips. "Emma, this is Peter. He works for Maria Siegel. Remember we talked about him?"

Peter didn't know what all was said about him in his absence, but it must have been fairly good because Emma's smile grew wider as she hastily put down her watering can and crossed the room to eagerly shake his hand. "Hello, Peter." She greeted in a voice that was slightly slurred, but surprisingly clear. "I'm happy you are here." She looked around the kitchen a bit flustered and added, "I didn't know you were coming so soon, or I would have cleaned up a bit better."

Peter gave an easy laugh. "It's ok." He beamed. "I didn't really call ahead, so it's my fault." He didn't really know what to expect when he first heard about Emma, but what he found was a wonderfully warm person that he immediately saw as a kindred soul. He didn't have to read her mind or try to sense her mood, he just knew it and suddenly the prospect of working with a newbie to the war actually seemed preferable to trying to save the world all on his own- so long as she fully understood what it was she was getting herself into. He furrowed his eyebrows and swallowed uncomfortably. "I'm sorry to have to meet you like this, Emma, but if you really wanted to get your feet wet, now's your chance."

Her eyes lit up slightly, but behind them was a wise apprehension. "Really?" She asked looking to her owner. "Where..I mean how do…?"

"Maria's." Peter answered simply. "And we'll go when you're ready." She nodded and he placed his hand lightly on her shoulder. "Ever teleport before?" He asked with a smile.

"No." She shook her head amused. It sounded exciting.

"Don't blink or you'll miss it." He laughed as he closed his eyes and whisked them back to Maria's. When he opened his eyes, he burst out laughing because Emma's eyes were squeezed as tight as she could close them. He gave her a gentle shake and she cautiously peeked at him. "It's over." He informed her. "You made it."

"I don't blame her, it's trippy." Matt grumbled. "But at least she didn't wake up in the middle of a friggin' desert following a turtle."

Sylar cocked his head slightly and squinted at her in a way that immediately made Peter defensive. It was as if he were trying to figure out how she was broken and he had to put a stop to that immediately. "This is Emma." He said slowly as she watched his lips move. "She is a doctor and she's going to help us."

"Why are you talking so slowly?" Matt asked perplexed. "We're not deaf."

"No," Sylar coolly corrected with a knowing smirk, "she is."

Peter couldn't help but notice that her friendly smile faltered just a bit when she looked at Sylar. He tentatively read her thoughts to better get a handle on the situation. _He seems dangerous…very dangerous_. _Wait! Is that the guy who's always on the news?_ Peter got her attention and nodded to affirm her suspicions. "This is Sylar and Matt. I asked you to come because they are going to take shots of Maria's serum."

He didn't need to say anymore. She had taken it months before and she remembered the almost blinding intensity that flooded her eyes from the slightest sounds. What was more, the onslaught continued even when her eyes were closed because vibrations set off the sensation as well and she didn't sleep for days while the swirling colors spun in her mind like a nightmarish kaleidoscope. She thought she was actually going crazy until it stabilized. "Are they both healthy?"

Peter sidestepped the question uncomfortably. "Mostly."

"Mostly?" She echoed with raised eyebrows. "If I'm going to help, I need to know what to expect."

Sylar shot him a fierce warning glare. He could tolerate the paramedic handling him when it was inescapable, but he didn't know the newcomer and therefore, he didn't trust her. It wasn't personal, it was necessary. It was rude, but Peter intentionally turned his back to her so she couldn't read his lips. "Sylar," he tried to reason, "she really is here to help. I know you don't like new people getting all up in your business, but this could be serious."

"Hell, she can check me out." Matt suggested. "I'm not afraid of girls like he is."

Sylar turned slightly to give Matt a disgusted 'as if' look. "The last woman that felt me up found herself face down in a horse trough. I don't take those things lightly."

"She's not here to feel anyone up!" Peter sighed. "She's a professional the same as me and she might just save your sorry ass."

"I'm not questioning her qualifications," Sylar smoothly retorted, "but I'm not a slave anymore and I do have a say on what happens to me." He paused to consider the situation before continuing. "I will allow her to do what she needs to if this serum has serious side effects, but I'm not going to submit to a complete physical right now." He raised one eyebrow questioningly. "Fair enough?"

It was probably the best concession he was ever going to get and Peter threw his hands up in surrender before turning back to his perplexed companion. "He said you can work on him if he nearly dies, but you can't touch him otherwise." He noted the skeptical look on her face and he rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I know, but believe me, that's the way it always is. He has some kind of complex…or something. Trust me, it's not worth your time to argue with him."

Sylar heard them, but he didn't seem their mockery worth noting. He busied himself with injecting the serum into his vein while Peter's back was turned and before his new doctor friend could get her claws into him. He didn't know what would happen, but he was betting on the fact that Peter might have exaggerated just a little and the hope that his healing ability was stronger than it was the first time, so perhaps the symptoms wouldn't be as severe.

Matt watched him carefully, looking for any sign that he should back out of the deal and run while he still could.

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Claire picked up her head and blinked expectantly at Damian when she heard him stirring. He was trying to quietly free his wrist and his panicked eyes fixated on her when he realized she had caught him and he instinctually froze.

"Uh…hello." She said awkwardly. "I'm Claire." He blinked, but didn't otherwise respond like a deer in her headlights. "I'm just down the hall." She added with a small gesture to her left before realizing how stupidly casual she made it sound. It wasn't like they lived in the same dorm in college. She rose to her feet and stretched her tight muscles before she approached him with what she hoped was a friendlier smile. He tried to shrink away from her as much as he physically could before she suddenly felt dizzy- like her very soul was being torn from her body. She swayed on her feet and glanced down at him. "Is that you?" She asked breathlessly. "Stop it!"

He didn't know who she was, but every person who had ever came close to him since his arrival had done very bad things- enough to make him insane enough to think he saw shimmering auras around people as though he could see their very essence of being like some deity. The doctor had tortured him until he cried and begged for mercy, but it didn't stop until he blacked out and now here she was. He could only assume she was there to work her particular brand of evil on him as well, and he couldn't take anymore. He didn't want to face one more minute of agony- he would rather die. She seemed stunned or in a daze, but he wasn't doing anything but trying to get away from her. She stopped shimmering, her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she fell into a heap on the floor next to his cot. He watched her carefully, wondering if she had some kind of medical condition like low blood sugar or epilepsy that would explain her sudden collapse. A part of him wanted to at least check on her, but he was well restrained and could barely move. Slowly, the space around her still body began to undulate softly and she began to move.

She sat up and gave him a disappointed look. "Could you not do that again?" She petulantly requested. "It really feels weird."

"I…I didn't do anything." He said softly. "You just passed out. I couldn't hurt you if I wanted to laying here."

Claire scoffed. "You don't have to physically touch people to hurt them. I know someone who's made a nice living off doing just that."

"What?" He asked confused. He was convinced he was mad.

She smiled tensely and ever so slowly reached for his restraints. "Let's try this again. I'll undo these if you promise not to do your magic trick again."

"It might not be a good idea." He advised as he looked away miserably.

He seemed so sad and lost, it made her feel sorry for him despite what he did to her. "Why do you say that?"

"I'm not a stable person." He admitted. "I think I have schizophrenia or something."

She couldn't help but laugh even though she knew it would seem insensitive. "You're not crazy. You have some kind of ability and you're not the only one who does."

He looked to her with defeated eyes. "I can't do anything! I know people who have powers and I don't do anything. I don't know why people keep saying that."

"I think you do and I bet the dead guys they drug out of here thought so too." She noted the look of shocked recognition in his eyes. She turned her head slightly and asked, "That's not the first time that's happened, is it?" He looked utterly remorseful and it was clear he didn't know they had died. She continued untying the knotted leather that held him and tried to project a sense of calm to sooth him. "Well, whatever it is, I can see why they have you here. It's dangerous until you learn to control it."

"I didn't kill anyone!" He pleaded. "I don't know how they died, but I couldn't murder another person." He seemed desperate to prove his point. "Say I did have some kind of ability. It didn't kill you, right?"

"Actually, it did." She smiled sweetly at him. "But I can regenerate, so I can't really die."

He didn't believe that he caused her illness, but he still felt compelled to apologize. "I'm sorry." He said meekly.

She finished freeing his last limb and she shrugged nonchalantly. "Don't worry about it. It happens all the time." She retrieved the bottle of water she stashed from his lunch tray before it was taken and offered it to him. "You look like you need this."

"Thanks." He sighed, slowly sitting up and rubbing his sore, raw wrists. The soft leather straps had somehow managed to cut into his skin from his numerous futile attempts at escape. He could almost feel the tissues of his body swell, sucking up the water like a sponge as quickly as he could drink it. He didn't realize how dehydrated he was and yet he swore after being blasted with a fire hose he didn't want to see another drop of water as long as he lived. "So," he slyly asked between sips, "what are you in for?" If he was going to be in prison, he might as well play the part. He just hoped that she was going to be his only cell mate…

She got the joke and smiled. "They don't really tell you much in here, but I'm guessing it has something to do with being in the rebellion."

"You are?" He asked impressed. "Officially I can't say I condone it, but secretly I think it's good."

She boldly sat next to him and asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He gave a weary sigh and explained. "I used to be an intern in Senator Petrelli's office before all this. I'm sure he's fired me by now, though." He shook his head and chuckled, "I don't think he really liked me anyway."

"He just might have a strange way of showing it." She offered. She knew all about his duplicitous nature, but she also knew that what people saw on the outside was usually the direct opposite of what he really thought about them. If he seemed indifferent to his intern, then he probably really liked him but for whatever reason wasn't able to express it in any conventional way.

His blue eyes sparkled with amusement for just a split second. "He called me David or Danny for the first two weeks. Finally he just started calling me by my last name because he couldn't remember what it was even though we all had to wear ID badges."

"That sounds," she began cracking up, "absolutely inexcusable."

"Yeah well, I know it sounds like Stockholm syndrome or something but he really isn't the man people think he is. I've read his reports and overhead enough phone calls to know that he seems all American, but I think he really does care about people…" he glanced cautiously at her and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "people like you."

She gave a small smile and debated if she should trust him. "I know," she breathed lightly into his ear so no one but he could hear, "he's my father."


	10. Motivations

**A/N: I had a little extra downtime this week, so here's a second update! You all deserve it!**

**Chapter 10- Motives**

"_We are all selfish and I no more trust myself than others with a good motive."_

_Lord Byron_

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Nathan appreciated his little brother's offer teleport him back to Washington, but he chose to return the way he came so Peter could concentrate on setting Sylar's plan in motion. The consequences of a delay in action would be far more dire than explaining a lengthy absence to his security detail. He did have the courtesy to check in with the lead agent to tell her that he was out of his office, but his real intent was to buy himself extra time and provide an alibi in the form of a short stopover. He looked around at the cozy tree lined street to be sure no one spotted his landing and he softly knocked on the door to the second apartment of a walkup. His breath made thin, soft clouds as he exhaled in the cold night air. Winter was well on its way and he briefly wondered how all of the specials who were on the run in the northern climate would fare in the coming months. Certainly many would die of hypothermia and starvation while he kept warm in his thick wool coat and ate his steak dinners, and although he felt guilty he knew it could be no other way.

There was a slight clinking sound as the deadbolt and chain were unlocked and the door opened slightly. Noah looked out with a neutral expression, but just past his shoulder Nathan spotted his handgun- drawn and held in the ready position. He smiled, knowing he was in no danger. "Expecting someone?"

"No, and that's the point." Noah replied, stepping aside to let his unannounced visitor in.

Nathan took a quick look around the sparsely decorated apartment and it reminded him vaguely of Peter's apartment in New York except Noah had a few more creature comforts such as actual furniture. "Sorry, were you in the middle of something?" He asked, noting a public service announcement he filmed on the television urging the public to call the authorities if they suspected anyone was a special. He cringed to see himself on screen because what the ad didn't say was what would happen to the people they turned in.

"If you call eating carry out Chinese an activity." He mumbled, lifting a nondescript white carton with chopsticks buried deep into a pile of noodles. "Chow mien?"

"None for me, thanks." Nathan sighed as he took a seat on an overstuffed chair. Either he was extraordinarily tired or it was surprisingly comfortable. "I just got back from Maria's."

The light from the television reflected off Noah's glasses as he looked up sharply from his dinner. "Really? That was risky. I hope you have a good cover story."

"More or less, but it was long overdue." He seemed a little reticent to go on, but Noah was a man he could trust and it wasn't like his family situation was news to the former company man. "I haven't seen Peter since this insanity started."

Noah gave a small, knowing nod. He knew how important it was to keep whatever family ties that remained intact in good care. "How did that go?"

"Better than it should have, but you know Peter. I could crucify him on the National Mall in front of God and everybody and somehow he would find it in himself to forgive me."

Noah smiled gently. "Sometimes it seems like he's trying for sainthood, but you'd better hope that never changes because you need him as an ally. We all do. We all know what the flipside of that is."

Nathan nodded with a wry smile. "Yeah, well guess who was also at Maria's?"

"Not surprising." Noah casually shrugged. "She used to own him and she treated him far better than he deserved. I think he knows that." He paused to raise his eyebrows. "He sent her a very expensive watch as a thank you gift, so it stands to reason that he would find his way back to her when he gets into trouble. She's probably the only person he knows that will cover for him." He shook his head at the irony of it all. "Did you know he killed Bryant?"

Nathan was dumbstruck. "No!" He finally spat out. "Was this before or after she bought him?" Leave it to Sylar to do something so despicable, but at least in this case he seemed to feel a tiny shred of remorse. It was highly unusual, but encouraging unless he had some long-range plan to do her in when she was no longer useful to him the way he did everyone else. Perhaps the watch was just shiny bait on a very sharp hook…

"Before. Naturally it was Peter that had to break the news to her, but from what he told me it was over Sylar's nearly dead body…literally."

She knowingly kept her husband's murderer in her home _and_ saved his life. It was supremely baffling to him. If it was him and Sylar killed someone he cared about, he would be sure to gouge out his eyes with a toothpick to make him suffer in agony before he died and then put his body through a meat grinder and feed it to pigs, but that was just him."Maybe _she's_ trying for sainthood." It was the only explanation that he could think of. "Anyway, he's heading up a team to fix our...unfortunate...situation."

"So he agreed?" Noah asked mildly surprised. "What did you have to promise him in return? A gold plated, lifetime get-out-of-jail free card?"

"No, he didn't ask for anything and I didn't promise anything."

Noah put his container of noodles down on the coffee table with a sigh. "Then it just means he will take what he wants. He never works for free, you know him as well as I do. If you don't pay him a little now, you will owe him a whole lot more later. Dealing with him is worse than an arrangement with an Italian mob bookie, but he can break a lot more than your legs."

"Maybe." Nathan granted. His experience with Linderman was enough to make him shy of the whole underground racket. "But he's all we got, so we will have to pay whatever price he wants. You know," he squinted and shook his head, "when I was there it just seemed like all he really wanted was his abilities back. I know all about his drive to gain powers, but so far he's been able to ignore it or maybe the fighting is a good way for him to vent, but…" He sighed heavily at memories he wished he could bury deep in his mind. "I was in a war myself in Bosnia and I know the look that was in his eyes- the battle fatigued, weary soldier that keeps fighting almost on autopilot. He won't quit until it's over even though he may want to because he truly believes in what he's fighting for. I never thought I would say this, but Noah, when he said he had a plan to rescue Claire, I believed him. What's more, I trust him. There may be hell to pay after he's done, but you and I both know that he always does exactly what he says he will. He doesn't flinch or second guess himself- once he has a goal and a plan, he executes it and he will not stop until he finishes the job. No matter what he's done in the past, _that's_ the kind of soldier this war needs."

"I agree, but not all soldiers out there are like him or can do what he does. If there were more, this war could have been over as quickly as it started. No matter how powerful or motivated he is, he can't win it all by himself. But as much as I would like for this all to end tomorrow, right now I'll be happy if he can just win this battle." He sat back and flashed his deceptively easy smile. "You know, maybe you should think about promoting him from a private in the infantry to a general. The war needs soldiers, but it also needs officers to lead them."

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West lay on his cot, staring up at the ceiling. He was tired from pacing and general boredom, but the last time he tried to drift off to sleep he was interrupted by the most intense, blood curdling screaming coming from the cell next to his. For as secure and impenetrable the facility seemed to be, sounds sometimes traveled easily through the ventilation system. He didn't know who the person next to him was, but he knew it was a man judging by the pitch of his voice and he also knew that the poor bastard had no idea what was happening to him. Either he genuinely didn't know, or he was incredibly stubborn because he didn't give them any useful information on himself or the resistance. He hadn't heard any sounds from him recently and he wondered if it was because the man had been moved or if they actually killed him. He certainly did ask them to- several times.

The door to his cell opened and he immediately sat up, fully expecting it to be his turn. He only hoped he could be as brave as the man next door not to cave under the pressure and pain. His fear quickly turned to disgust when he noted it was Luke who was visiting him. "How goes it, Judas?" He asked sarcastically.

Luke gave a patient sigh, but really he expected it. "It's not like that, man. They haven't asked me anything about the rebellion and so far, Agent Carter has followed through on everything she promised."

"Of course she has." West sneered. "She has to string you along because the hard stuff will come later. You know, the actual betrayal and being a narc- you have to be comfortable with it and that takes awhile. But with enough tasty dinners and warm clothes you'll come around." He shook his head sadly. "I just can't believe you sold out so cheaply."

"Like a $2 crack whore." Luke smiled. "Look, maybe you like roughing it out there for some higher cause, but I'm just being realistic. We can't win, West. Guys like you and me, we can't change the course of history. Either we get out of the way or get run over. I made my choice, now I'm here to ask you to reconsider yours. This project really is all about trying to end this peacefully. I want it to end and I know you do too."

"Yes, but not at the cost of going back to being a slave! Either we are totally free or we keep fighting until we are. There is no in between."

"Ah, but there is." Luke disagreed. "See, either-or thinking is what keeps this war going when what we need is both-and. Compromise, West. That's all anybody wants."

West slowly shook his head in amazement. "It only took them a few hours to completely brainwash you. That was fast."

"I'm not brainwashed and nobody is forcing me to do this. It's simple math, West. Specials are already fighting as hard as they can and it's like swimming upstream, we're getting nowhere. In my few hours here I've learned something: the government managed to get some of Sylar's blood and they have a drug that will drop him where he stands the next time he decides to attack a facility. _Sylar_, West!" He scoffed and threw his hands up. "It's game over now if they can take him down. They will kill us all. Negotiation is our only hope of survival."

"Bullshit." West laughed. "They just told you that. I'm sure they would love to kill him, but they can't and they know it."

Luke gave him a dead serious look. "It exists and we can test it out on your girlfriend if you want proof." He smiled at West's shocked expression. "That's right. All this time you've been looking for her and she's been next to you." He jabbed his finger toward the mystery man's cell. "Right over there."

"What did you do to her?" He asked spitefully. He didn't hear her screaming, but perhaps she was just as determined as the man not to give her captors the satisfaction.

"Nothing." Luke sighed patiently. "She's fine. Seriously dude, I wouldn't bullshit you like that. But she is working for the project."

"No way!" West protested. "She wouldn't sell out like that!" He knew Claire better than that…at least he thought he did.

"She is and I can show you. Wanna go look?" Luke invited. "C'mon, Let's take a little field trip." He motioned for West to follow and he pounded on the door for the guards to let them out. "I'm warning you though, you might not like what you see."

"Whatever." West mumbled. He didn't know why Luke was being such a dick, but it was all probably part of some stupid little game. He walked a short distance to the large window in front of the cell next door and paused. Claire was sitting next to another man, laughing and holding his injured wrist lightly in her hands while she poured some water from a bottle over it and used the hem of her shirt to gently wipe away some blood. For his part, the man looked slightly uncomfortable, but he certainly wasn't protesting and he gave her a friendly smile that West thought was perhaps a bit too friendly. "Who is he?" He demanded.

Luke suppressed a small, self-satisfied smile. He squinted to read the dossier posted by the door in the dim light of the hallway. "Damian Montgomery." He broke out into a chuckle. "Dude, he used to work for Nathan Petrelli. Guess being connected didn't help him, but Claire's in there to get his cooperation." He couldn't help himself. "Looks like she's well on her way to getting something else."

West growled as he threw a sucker punch that sent his former friend sprawling on the concrete floor and the guards leaping into action to subdue him. "You don't talk about her like that!" He yelled fiercely even as the guards pressed their knees into his back, making it difficult for him to breathe. "She wouldn't do that!"

Luke smiled as he rubbed his sore jaw. "Dude, again with the reality check. She hasn't seen you in months and she may even think you're dead. Why should she wait for you? Would you?" The smile faded from his lips and he gave West a sincere look that was reminiscent of their early days together. "The world changes even if you don't want it to and you have to accept it. The government knows that specials are the future and they are willing to stop fighting if they can ensure that regular humans won't be harmed. Claire will live forever and you won't always be there. She will find someone else. That's her future and you can fight it or you can accept it. You can keep living in your fantasy world of how you want the world to be or you can see it as it really is. That's all the Chimera project's about."

He gestured for the guards to step away and he allowed West to stand up before he extended his hand in a goodwill gesture. "I want you to be a part of my future."

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Mohinder sat patiently in his seat between Matt and Sylar and marveled at the disparity between them. He had been asked to assist in the event of major catastrophe and he was both honored and a little terrified at the prospect. People deal with crises in many different ways and the two couldn't have been more distinct in their respective approaches to what was happening to them. He along with Peter and Emma watched their patients, ready to intervene at the slightest hint of trouble and it just so happened that Matt's came first. Mohinder knew all about the serum's terrible side effects and he felt compassion for his former roommate as he clenched his temples with his eyes shut tight, moaning and writhing in agony. Emma gave him injections of morphine to ease the pain that felt like a nuclear explosion in his mind and gently rubbed his arms to comfort him, but it didn't seem to help much. She compulsively checked his pulse and blood pressure because she was concerned he may have a stroke. Of all her ministrations, the thing that probably helped him most was the calming sound of her thoughts amid the pain and chaos. _Hang in there. I wish there was more I can do for you, but I will do everything I can until you are well again._

Sylar, on the other hand, took a radically different tack. He lay perfectly still on his back, breathing lightly but steadily with his eyes closed as though he were meditating his way through the intense pain that was only reflected in the rapidly pulsating arteries in his neck and slightly pale complexion. Mohinder watched him with curiosity. It would be his natural instinct to tightly control his physical responses even when it would be perfectly understandable to express his discomfort and it was both commendable and a little tragic. The degree with which he could maintain a cool exterior was admirable, but it also meant that he was suffering needlessly when they had the means to make him more comfortable. No one would think less of him for asking for relief from the misery, in fact that was their very purpose in aiding him, but Sylar was notoriously stubborn. Mohinder wondered if he was trying to prove something to those around him or if his aversion to medical attention was born out of his previous experiences with company doctors who ignored the credo of 'do no harm' and used their training to inflict great suffering in the name of science. He himself was once a company doctor and he knew how the greater goal could often obscure the humanity of specials to the point where they were viewed as equipment- no different than mice or monkeys.

Peter was watching Sylar too, but he wore an intensely grim expression. He remembered well what happened the last time and even though his patient appeared to be in little distress compared to Matt, he knew the signs. It was the way Sylar's long fingers would occasionally curl and then tremble slightly as he once again extended them and the fast, shallow breaths that were an almost involuntary coping mechanism common to most people. It was his slightly tense facial muscles and the almost imperceptibly slow grinding of his teeth that let Peter know that all was not as well as it appeared to be. He ran through the list of Sylar's abilities in his head in an effort to correlate them to physical mechanisms so he could predict what problems might arise. Telekinesis and electricity were almost visceral, physical powers that utilized the nervous system so it likely felt as though he still had a chip and it was stuck in shock mode. Sylar once described his lie detection as a tingling sensation in the back of his mind and Peter knew from experience that his IA was almost purely mental, so he probably felt as though he had a fierce migraine as well. Thermonuclear generation would cause an intense burning sensation and those were just the ones he could think of off the top of his head, so add it all together and it was a world of hurt to be sure. When he thought about it, it was actually amazing that he was taking it so well without the aid of heavy narcotics. Then again, suffering of that intensity could well have made him more or less catatonic from sensory overload…

Emma noted Peter's uncomfortable disposition. Though some would view her disability as unfortunate, it did allow her to be more observant of other human behaviors such as slight changes in posture or facial expressions to clue her into what sound could not. It was highly useful because people either wouldn't directly say what was wrong or they would lie about it anyway. She left Matt in Mohinder's care just long enough to stand by her partner so she could speak quietly and not disturb anyone. She lightly tapped his arm to get his attention although she knew that she could have just started speaking and he likely would have heard her. She was just so used to people doing it with her that it had become a habit. "Are you ok?" She asked with a slight smile. "You look worried. Perhaps I can help you?"

Peter gave an embarrassed grin. He didn't mean to be so obvious, but it was just his nature to wear his heart on his sleeve for all to see. "They just don't cover medicine for specials in school and I get tense every time because the same rules just don't apply." He shook his exasperated. "And as if trying to treat someone with an ability isn't bad enough, Sylar has a veritable Pandora's box of powers, so I feel like I have to be extra careful. I mean, what if something goes really wrong and we can't stop it?"

Although some of his words were a little difficult to decipher, she felt as though she got the gist of what he said if not the sentiment behind it. "It doesn't matter that he's special." She confided. "I felt the same way in med school about every person I tried to help, but no matter how hard you try, sometimes things go badly and there's nothing you can do. It's not a reflection on your competence or your skills, it's just fate." She glanced at the man who the news said was responsible for the death of so many government agents and guards. She could see how he was dangerous even if the reports were sensationalized in an effort to get ratings.

She took a deep breath before approaching him and placing her hand on his wrist to take his pulse and found it to be rapid, but steady. His eyelids fluttered, indicating his awareness of her, but he didn't try to stop her from examining him. During her training, she had many difficult patients, but none that were guilty of war crimes and she was doing her best to walk a fine line between respecting his wishes and doing her job. She moved her hand from his wrist to his chest to feel his heartbeat since she had no use for a stethoscope. If she concentrated, the steady thumping of a healthy heart made beautiful, puffy yellowish orange clouds that surrounded her fingers like a mitten while sick ones were more jagged and tended to be a cooler color like bluish green. With enough practice, she had learned to detect even the slightest variation in timing. Although her method was unconventional, she made no more errors than doctors who used the listening devices and Sylar's heart was astoundingly healthy for a man his age. Even though he was still young relatively speaking, early signs of hypertension and atherosclerosis usually appeared in men over the age of 30. Either he was careful with his diet and exercised every day, it was due to one of his many abilities, or he hit the genetic jackpot in terms of resistance to heart disease, she thought to herself. Some people had all the luck. Finally, she placed the back of her hand on his forehead and noted that his skin felt very warm even though his color was a bit washed out, a sure sign of physiological distress. All in all, she would rather have him warm than cold because he would be easier to treat than if he was in shock.

She lingered by his bedside for just a moment debating where his personal line for intervention lie, but it was a place many doctors find themselves in when it came to patient care. He wasn't explicit in his directive aside from nearly dying, but that could mean any number of things. At the moment, he wasn't in danger of systemic organ failure or catastrophic blood loss, so she chose to respect his unspoken wish of being left alone even though she hated to see him suffer. In the end, it was his decision and it wasn't her job to force treatment even if she disagreed with his rationale…whatever it was, so she returned to Matt who had managed to open his eyes just enough to take in his surroundings.

Matt's mind was a swirling maelstrom of random thoughts that drifted to him from all directions, causing his ears to ring and his head to ache. He could only guess that schizophrenics felt much the same, but he knew his tormentors to be real and he hated being privy to the private thoughts of others. Sometimes it was awkward intimate details and sometimes it was disturbing fantasies, but thankfully most people concerned themselves with mundane things like wondering if they turned off the stove before they left the house or endlessly reciting what they had to buy at the store after they left work. It was amazing how most people thought in the same voice they spoke in, making the source easily identifiable. Emma was still trying to silently console him and Mohinder was busy trying to mentally mix chemicals and predict outcomes in his typical British cadence while he absentmindedly watched Sylar. There was a slight buzzing emanating from Peter, but that was because he was also using his ability to read thoughts and two mind readers cancelled each other out much the same way two radio frequencies washed out in interference. Amid it all, the one thing that made him open his eyes was to watch the show that was about to start.

In his dark, husky voice, Sylar's thoughts became almost panicked as his breathing picked up in pace. _Keep it together. Ignore it, it will go away. Breathe….breathe…br…..oh shit. _He had just enough time to roll onto his side before his stomach writhed violently, sending what remained of his lunch all over the floor and an unsuspecting Mohinder's shoes. Despite his misery and sense of revulsion, Matt still managed to find it funny. "Nice shot, dude." He wouldn't have missed Sylar embarrass himself in front of others for the world. It was an event almost as rare as Haley's comet and he might never see it happen again in his lifetime.

Sylar remained hanging over the side of his bed, panting and trying his best to will his stomach to stop painfully heaving even though there was nothing left to evacuate. He spit and sighed as his head felt as though it were going to explode. He should have known that he couldn't fully contain the overwhelming tide of pain- it was going to come out in one way or another. _Well, that was less than graceful. Way to go, now you've lost all respect. At least I got Mohinder, that's my consolation prize I guess…_

Mohinder sat looking down at his soiled shoes dismayed. People certainly do respond in different ways to crisis, but he wasn't entirely convinced that Sylar's accident wasn't at least a little bit within his control. The man could focus his telekinesis to such a degree that it was sharper than a scalpel and he couldn't have better aim? He wanted to chide him for doing it on purpose, but he had no evidence and it would look very insensitive on his part. No matter if he meant to do it or not, Sylar would win in the court of public opinion. It just wasn't fair.


	11. Good Deeds

**A/N: Welcome, illogicalvulcan!**

**Chapter 11- Good Deeds**

"_It is only after one is in trouble that one realizes how little sympathy and kindness there are in the world."__  
><em>_-Nellie Bly_

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Damian was thankful that he wasn't alone and Claire did seem to be a nice person, but he really had to wonder who was truly the crazy one in the room. All along he thought it was him due to his visual hallucinations and he even considered the prospect that she too was a figment of his imagination, but she felt real enough: her hands were warm despite the cool room and there was definitely a sense of pressure when she wiped away the traces of blood from his wrist. Could imaginary friends seem so lifelike? He may have been happy enough with her company even if he thought her reality was suspect, but her claim of being Senator Petrelli's daughter was way out there- a delusion of grandeur, really. That was the only explanation he could think of. She looked nothing like him and why would a special claim to be the relative of the very person who sought to contain them? It was a little like someone admitting to serial murders just to be famous even though they had nothing to do with it. That she was part of the rebellion he could believe, but he couldn't exactly buy her being a Petrelli. Even if his boss was secretly sympathetic to specials, there was no way he would risk so much by being so public if he had members of his family who were special. He was curious, but careful not to disturb her too much least she have some violent psychotic break. "So, how did you get here?"

"Same way you did. Bag and tag." She replied nonchalantly. "Ambushed by agents, tied up, bag over the head so you can't see…it's always the same."

He smiled a little incredulously. "You mean this isn't your first time?"

"Far from it. I almost know the routine by heart although I have to give them credit, they do change the way they capture you to keep you on your toes."

Her answer begged the next question, although he was hesitant to ask. He looked perplexed and quietly inquired, "But if the Senator is your father, why don't they leave you alone?"

Claire nodded slowly and gave a knowing smile. "I knew you wouldn't believe me, but it doesn't work that way. He can't help me any more than he can help you. Not that he doesn't want to, but put yourself in his shoes and tell me how far you'd go." She seemed saddened, but resolute. "It's always been that way for us."

"Us?" He echoed in surprise. "You have brothers and sisters?"

"Not his," she corrected, "I have a half brother, but he doesn't have abilities. Let's just say I'm not the only skeleton in his closet."

Damian's mouth quirked in disbelief. "You're telling me that Senator Petrelli has more family members with powers?" He shook his head in amazement. "Do you know what would happen to him if anyone found out?"

"Exactly. That's why no one knows about us." She wanted him to know the truth, but she was hesitant to speak it out loud in so many words. "How long have you followed his political career?"

Damian glanced down at his red, raw wrists and admitted, "A few years, I guess." He wasn't exactly a fanboy, but Senator Nathan Petrelli was the next John Kennedy and the nation loved him. It was a little hard not to be enamored by him in some small way.

"Do you remember the first time he ran for Congress?"

"Yeah," he recalled, "he was a dark horse candidate, but he came from behind to win the election." It was pure political magic from his strategic point of view.

She simply didn't have time to tell him all about her father's checkered past and how it came to be that he won the popular vote, but that was beside the point she was trying to make. "Right, but do you remember how he told everyone that his father suffered from depression?"

She could almost see the light bulb go off in his head. "…And his brother attempted suicide by jumping off a building."

"Except he didn't." Claire emphasized. "Peter wasn't depressed and he's never been suicidal. He was trying to figure out his ability."

Damian sat quietly while all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Was this Peter the mystery brother that McCaskey's intern was snooping in the database for? Was it really that obvious? "So…" he started, still trying to wrap his head around it all, "his brother can what…fly like Superman?"

"Yes, and he kind of is Superman." She smiled. Even after all the time and events that had passed, she still felt a small sense of awe at her uncle's unassuming nature and drive to help everyone- including her- time and again. "There are those with abilities and then there are people that are evolved beyond even us and he's one of them."

"Like Sylar?" He guessed.

Her mood instantly turned sour. "He's something else entirely."

This was all too much for him to take. "You know him too?" How could she possibly be a senator's daughter, accuse him of having a secretly powerful brother, _and_ know the mystery man that no one has ever really seen in person?

"Unfortunately." She grumbled. "But yes, he's like Peter only in that he has many abilities instead of one, but as a person.." she sighed exasperated, "he's not even human. Talking to him is like talking to a machine. There's nothing but his damned logic and any emotion he may pretend to have is only a means of manipulation to get what he wants."

"Sounds like a charming guy." Damian chuckled. It certainly did go a long way in explaining how he was able to attack facilities with such single minded focus. If he didn't see people as people, it was probably no different to him than a videogame.

"Oh, he can be." She warned. "He can be a regular Don Juan when he wants to be, but it's only a mask he wears until he gets what he wants. He's a textbook psychopath, but totally rational about it."

There was such a hint of vinegar in her voice that it made him think she had some personal experience on that front, but he knew better than to touch it with a ten foot pole. He suspected that maybe they were lovers or something, but he wasn't about to ask. "You know the government is looking for him," he ventured carefully, "if he's so hated, why don't people turn him in?"

"Because." She huffed petulantly. "He's a self-centered jerk most of the time, but he's also out there fighting for them, he's the best hope specials have and he seems to be winning." She gave a fleeting grin despite herself. "And he's notoriously hard to catch." She hated giving him any kind of credit, but he was quite good at evading capture and that was very useful in the movement. Perhaps all of the years he spent running from her father before the war was good for something.

Damian remembered all the reports he had read and summarized for his boss and they all had the same pattern. "It seems like anyone who gets within 20 feet of him dies."

"See," she giggled, "I told you I knew someone who made a living off hurting people without touching them. It is possible."

His eyes filled with sadness at her innuendo that he had purposely killed in much the same way. "I don't want this." He admitted. "I don't want to hurt anyone."

He seemed to be almost begging her to take his ability from him- as if she could. "Like it or not, it's who you are and you need to figure out how to use it and control it. Just don't let Sylar hear you say you don't want it. He'll gladly take it from you."

"Can he make me normal?" He asked hopefully. He would almost pay him to relieve him of the burden- if the notorious killer didn't mind being paid in Ramen noodles.

"No." Claire almost laughed. "He'll cut the top of your head off and take it from your brain. You might live for a few minutes as a normal person before you die." She didn't mean to crush his sincere hopes so callously, so she added, "Sylar isn't the best choice, although he probably could figure it out quickly. Maybe Peter can help you, if we get out of here."

"Would he?" He seemed skeptical that he would receive such help from a person he'd never met. He was so used to being ignored that it didn't seem likely that a stranger would take an interest in his problems, especially if he was anything like his brother.

"He will." She promised. He always did and the two of them needed his help more than ever before. "He's always been there for me no matter what and I wouldn't be surprised if we see him soon."

He looked concerned. "You think they will capture him too?"

"No, like Sylar he has too many ways of escaping even if they did, but it's only a matter of time before he finds out I'm here and I know him: he'll move heaven and earth to get me out." She gave a small sigh. "I just hope Rebel knows where I am."

"Who's Rebel?" The hole just seemed to get deeper the longer he talked with her.

She laughed and shook her head. "I don't know. No one does." His suspicions were confirmed: she really was crazy.

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Sylar's eyelids fluttered slightly as Emma gently placed the cloth she'd just wrung out on his forehead. The silky coolness felt divine on his skin and although he was initially hesitant to trust the new doctor, when it came down to it, he just couldn't conceive of allowing Peter to administer the same treatment. He had nothing against male nurses, in fact, a small part of him actually admired him for making such a non-traditional career choice, but there was just something more palatable about allowing a woman to be so concerned about his welfare even though Peter probably felt the same level of compassion. He could tolerate Peter sewing his skin back together and removing bullets from his body on the occasions when it couldn't reject them itself, but there was something strangely intimate about touching his face that he couldn't get around. He knew it was sexist to think so, but in the moment he was less concerned with being politically correct and more concentrated on making sure he didn't give a repeat performance of his sudden episode.

Even though it wasn't his proudest moment, he did feel slightly better after his involuntary protein spill and the overwhelming pain he was in had subsided to a manageable level. He still felt as though he had been mauled by a lion, but his overall condition was steadily improving thanks to his healing ability. He secretly hoped that the third shot of serum would somehow magically restore his powers, but in reality he knew that if two didn't do it then three most likely wouldn't either. It did seem that with each injection his powers did grow a bit stronger, but then again so did the side effects. His eyes weren't bleeding yet, but he didn't want to see what another dose would do. He may have been curious, but he wasn't a fool. As he lay there trying to block out the agony until it passed, he did think that some Vicodin would be nice. In that moment he did miss the zoned out feeling that made him completely indifferent to the world around him- for the brief time it actually did. It was too late for that anyway- he had enough of his healing ability to neutralize it and only a tranquilizer heavy enough to bring down a mammoth would have any impact. It wasn't likely that Peter had access to a sufficient quantity or quality of any such drug, so he dealt with it the best he could and took refuge in the small act of kindness that Emma was brave enough to provide him before she left him for Matt.

Mohinder remained in his chair, staring down at Sylar with a blank expression. Figuring he was already contaminated and as a conscious act of compassionate goodwill, he volunteered to clean up after him because in his mind caring for the sick and even those that wished him ill would eventually bring good karma and he wasn't about to go to hell for hating Sylar over something so petty. If the killer did it on purpose, then it was up to him to deal with the cosmic consequences and he shuddered to think of how many times he would have to be reborn to cleanse himself of all his misdeeds. He simply didn't know from a scientific point of view if the earth would even last that long. He truly did seem to be suffering and he did plan on rescuing Claire, so he was working out some of it, but even if he applied his tremendous mental skill to cure cancer, eliminate AIDS, solve world hunger, invent cold fusion and broker peace in the Middle East it would still be a drop in the bucket for every murder and evil thought he probably had.

Peter paced back and forth, his tense expression darting from Matt to Sylar and back. The morphine was finally helping Matt deal with the discomfort in his head and his grimace had been replaced with a slight grin- he wasn't feeling bad at all, or at the very least he no longer cared. Peter kept venturing peeps into his other patient's brain for clues to his true condition and was more or less pleased to know that Sylar was engaged in full on mental distraction by busying himself with going over every detail of his plan in an attempt to calculate, and therefore control, every possible variable. In the few times he broke his own rule of not eavesdropping, he was almost amused to find that he was trying to predict everything from the lighting conditions to staffing levels and even break rotations in order to maximize their chances of success. Just as he turned his attention elsewhere, a hint of a thought drifted through his mind and although he didn't catch the content, he did get a feeling of tension or perhaps even regret, but by the time he refocused his ability to read Sylar's mind it was gone and he was left wondering what exactly he missed. He might have been able to probe deeper to track it down, but he was worried that he would detect an obvious prying- like a wiggling sensation in his brain. One glance at Matt and he knew by the lightly buzzed look in his eye that he wasn't paying attention either.

Maria quietly shut the door behind her and tip-toed her way over to Peter, giving a brief smile to Emma as a greeting. "How are they?" She whispered, casting a worried glance over Matt and Sylar as they lay on their respective beds separated only by Mohinder. She had always told Matt that she would respect his decision when it came to taking the serum to restore his power, but she was not at all in favor of allowing Sylar a third dose- especially after what she witnessed after his second. However, she believed that he perhaps more so than anyone was fully capable of making his own decision, so she relented and provided him with a filled syringe on the condition that she not be made to witness the aftermath. She simply couldn't watch him suffer as he did again and he seemed to tacitly understand, taking the medicine from her hand with a placidly neutral expression and nothing else. She didn't want him to think that he was going to be left on his own, so she promised to check in on him and he gave the slightest nod in acknowledgement before he pocketed the needles, but there was still a palpable sense of sadness and it bothered her enough to make her swallow her own squeamishness.

"Better than I thought they would." Peter admitted. Even though he revised his prognosis, it didn't mean he wasn't still on guard. If it was his nature to give everything he had to everyone he tried to help, it was equally his nature to blame himself for things he had no control over.

"What do you think, Dr. Coolidge?" She asked after getting the young doctor's attention.

Emma smiled graciously. She probably never would get used to her title. "I think that Matt is doing better with the medication. I'll keep an eye on him and gradually ease him off as he can tolerate it."

"Thanks for helping, Emma." Maria nodded in earnest. "Your skills are in great need and Peter is only one man no matter what you may have heard."

Peter smiled shyly when Emma gave him a knowing look, but he couldn't deny it. "I'm happy to." She beamed. "It feels good to use my training for something so important." Her smile faltered just a little. "And for people who will give me a chance." Her implication was clear: throughout her education there had been those who couldn't believe that a deaf person could make a good doctor and she worked extra hard to prove them wrong. Just when she thought she had finally gained the respect she deserved from her peers, she was vilified for having an ability and thrown into the slave system- forbidden to use her medical skills to help others. She couldn't treat normal humans because they didn't trust her and it was illegal to offer aid to fellow specials. Thankfully, her owner felt differently and allowed her to keep her skills current by studying and working on fellow slaves. When she heard about what Peter was doing, she knew she had to be a part of it.

"I think you're awesome." Matt smiled lazily at her. "I don't care that you can't hear. I feel better." He chuckled and added, "A lot better."

"That's good." She laughed. "Let's keep it that way." She knew it was the drugs talking, but Matt seemed like a genuinely nice guy anyway, so she wasn't offended.

Maria turned to face Sylar and asked Mohinder in a whisper, "And how is he?"

"He had…" his expression darkened somewhat but his voice remained congenial, "a minor setback, but he seems to be improving."

Maria refreshed his cloth and replaced it on his forehead without a word. He turned his head slightly toward her in acknowledgement and she was glad she came. If he ever had a chance to become the man that Peter saw in the future, it had to start somewhere with some act of kindness that would stick with him. Perhaps it was her imagination, but thorough the stories she had heard and the things she herself witnessed, the vestiges of that future man lie within him- he just had to be coaxed out of hiding slowly and methodically.

Peter cocked his head in interest. The act itself was nothing special and he wasn't even really surprised that Sylar didn't protest, but what got his attention was the subtle change in his demeanor. Tension was replaced by a sense of calm and his mind, which was so busy spinning with schemes almost instantly fell silent and became tranquil and it simply fascinated him. He didn't get a sense that he had any type of feelings for her- at least in any amorous capacity- but there was an undeniable hint of something approaching detached respect and it was probably the closest Sylar could ever come to friendship knowing that she could never forgive him for what he'd done. What was more, it wasn't like the relationship was one sided as was his habit. He did keep her secret in the face of torture so he did contribute something, and it was apparently appreciated. If people said he had a conflicted relationship with Sylar, he couldn't fathom the two of them ever forging some kind of alliance, but they apparently had. He may not have understood it, but he was happy that they could find some kind of peace- everybody deserved at least one person they could rely on and that was especially true in the face of war.

"Is there anything I can do to help with the rescue?" She asked, turning back to Peter.

He snapped to attention, feeling a bit guilty about being caught snooping. "I don't know," he shrugged, "Sylar's the man with the plan and he hasn't shared it with the rest of us yet. But we will probably come back here, so perhaps having some hot food and blankets ready will be helpful. They usually keep those rooms ice cold to wear the prisoners down and they don't feed them very well either."

"Poor Damian." She muttered, absentmindedly dabbing Sylar's head with the cloth, "he's probably scared out of his wits. He's a sweet kid who's never been in trouble in his life."

Peter had never met Damian, his family moved away before he came to live at Maria's, but if Maria was that worried about him, he had cause to be as well. "And you didn't know he had an ability?" He asked just to be sure. "I mean, if you did and just didn't want to tell Nathan…"

"I didn't." She insisted. "And if he says he didn't know either then I believe him. His family may not have much, but they are good people, Peter, and he doesn't deserve this."

"Of course not," he agreed, "no one does, but I'd just like to know as much as we can going in. It would be helpful to know what he can do to help us rescue him."

"It doesn't matter what he can do." Sylar mumbled in a low voice. "If he doesn't know what it is or how to control it, he won't be able to help us even if we need it." He slowly opened his dark eyes and squinted against the light streaming into the room through the window. "I've already accounted for that."

His words seemed to satisfy everyone else in the room, but Peter wasn't convinced. While everyone was busy listening, he was feeling and again he detected that same sense of despair and it was unsettling.

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Micah watched the hacked security feed from the Virginia facility with a sense of disappointment. He tried to warn Claire that agents were on her trail, but she ignored him and now he had to coordinate the heroes to aid her. Some days he felt as though he were the only one running the war and it was a lot for a kid to handle even if he was a genius.

Of course he wasn't the only child soldier and Molly did a lot to help him target his efforts. It wouldn't have been impossible for him to find Claire by tracing strings of data in cyberspace, but it certainly did speed the process once she told him exactly where to look. A few rerouted programming commands later and he had the video feed of her cell on his computer screen. He looked up when Molly plopped down a plate containing a peanut butter sandwich and apple slices for them to share.

"Snack time!" She proclaimed happily as she plopped down beside him. "Is the bad part over?"

Micah smiled slightly at her. He may have been a kid, but he was mature for his age and he could make sense of the violence that went on all around him. "You mean this guy?" He asked pointing to Damian on his screen. "He's ok, Molly. Claire's talking to him."

Although she could clearly see him sitting up and talking with her, she seemed skeptical. "He was really scared when the men hurt him with the shots." The image of him screaming and straining against the leather straps that held him was burned into her mind and she had to leave the room- she simply couldn't watch.

Perhaps it was a matter of pride, but Micah didn't want to tell her that he turned off the monitor as soon as she left because he couldn't watch it either, so he took a large bite of his sandwich so he wouldn't have to say anything at all. A chime sound notified him that he had an incoming message on the secure network and he clicked on it immediately to read it.

_HIRO N. SAYS: CLAIRE IS GONE, BUT ANDO IS BACK…YATTA! WHAT NEXT?_

Micah chewed his sticky sandwich slowly and stared at the blinking cursor. What next? Why was he giving orders when he was just a kid? Why was it all up to him? He didn't know what was next, but what he did know was Claire's location and the one person that would know what to do about it. He typed in his response and hit send.

_FIND PETER_.


	12. Marching Orders

**Chapter 12- Marching Orders**

"_A small body of determined spirits fired by an unquenchable faith in their mission can alter the course of history."__  
><em>_-Mohandas Gandhi_

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Peter wasn't exactly a hard man to find, but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Of course he was happy to see Hiro and Ando together grinning like idiots on the front step of Maria's estate in the bright morning light, but if they knew exactly where to start their search without consulting Rebel then it meant he was too predictable and that could have dire consequences for everyone.

"So," Hiro smiled in anticipation as Peter led them to the kitchen to round up breakfast, "what's the plan?"

Peter smirked as he turned the corner and pointed at Sylar. "Ask him."

Hiro froze in his tracks so fast that Ando didn't have time to stop himself and he nearly knocked his friend over. "You?" Ando asked suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

"Having oatmeal." He replied sarcastically over his steaming bowl of bland but otherwise adequate nourishment. The fruit and nuts he would have usually added for flavor and additional nutrients were in short supply, so he took what he could get. He looked like hell and he knew it, but it was a minor miracle that he was able to get himself out of bed at all given the sleepless night he had while the side effects of the serum faded as much as they were ever going to. Perhaps once upon a time he might have cared, but those days were long gone. For the time being, stark and unblinking reality had replaced perception for him. His hair wasn't perfect, his cheeks were covered in dark stubble, and he was pale from exhaustion and probably had dark circles under his eyes to boot, but he just couldn't find it in himself to give a damn. He was alive, he had clean clothes to wear thanks to the stash he left behind from his slave days, and he had food to eat even if it was just a step above gruel. For him, it was a good day and probably the best he could ever hope for in the near future given the circumstances.

"Rebel told us to find Peter." Hiro squinted. "Not Brain Man."

"Well," Sylar sighed unamused at his pet name, "you found us both. I suppose you too want in on raiding the castle to save the princess?" He noted the excessively sour scowl on Peter's face at his metaphor. "Figuratively speaking."

"She was my partner." Hiro justified- as if he needed to or it would in any way convince his nemesis.

Sylar took a drink of his milk and gently put the glass down with a decisive, "No." He at least pretended to think about it before issuing his decree and he considered that a courtesy.

"No?" Ando echoed in surprise. "We came all the way here and you get to decide?" It was quite unusual for him to so openly challenge Sylar and he tried not to shrink under the harshness of his gaze.

"I do." He quietly confirmed with a slight nod. "The fact is, you could all try to get into one of those facilities to rescue Claire, but none of you have actually been close enough to one to know how they operate. You might as well just walk up to the guards with your hands up and turn yourselves in because you would all be captured and killed for your efforts." He glanced at each person in the room in turn to drive home his point. "I'm the only one who can pull this off and it will be done according to plan if you want to make it back."

Mohinder scoffed lightly. "Since when did you begin caring about our collective welfare?"

"I don't." He replied in a low tone. "If you deviate from the plan and get caught, I won't change it just to save you. But then again, you aren't going either." He shrugged lightly just to rub it in.

"Of course not." Mohinder sighed throwing his hands in the air. "I don't suppose my ability can be in any way useful to you."

"It might be, and that's why Peter is going to copy it." His dark eyes smoldered with contempt for the scientist and his voice dropped to a low rumble. "That is, unless you want me to take it." The startled expression on Mohinder's face made it clear that he understood the implied threat all too well.

Peter's eyes went wide as he folded his arms across his chest. He didn't know how long Sylar had gone without feeding his hunger, but it sounded like he was about to give in and he thought it best to draw his attention away from his potential target. "And what if I don't want to?"

Sylar slowly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His patience was wearing thin. "Don't be so petulant." He chided. "We all have to do things that we don't want to in order to achieve our objective- including myself. I don't want to take an entire platoon of people on this mission. We are only going to send the people we need in order to minimize the overall risk." He didn't know why he had to explain every detail, why couldn't they just trust him on this? Every second rehashing minutia was another second wasted in his mind. He had already made his list, checked it six times and was ready to execute, but everyone else was holding him up. This was the primary reason he always worked alone and he would have this time as well, but he knew he just wasn't able and it infuriated him.

"Sorry we're late." Maria smiled softly as she and Emma escorted a weary looking Matt into the kitchen. "Did we miss anything?" She jumped slightly when she noticed Hiro and Ando standing in her kitchen. "Welcome back!" Hiro bowed and Ando smiled grandly in response. They were happy to see her too and she did deserve more of a greeting, but more pressing matters were at hand and they hoped she understood.

"No, you're just in time." Mohinder groused gesturing to Sylar. "General McArthur here was just about to hand out marching orders for the invasion."

"Great." Matt sighed rubbing his temples. For him it would be no different than roll call on the police force, but it was all made worse by the slight hangover effect from the morphine and the fact that it was Sylar of all people who was leading the expedition. Technically smart, just not much of a people person. This was going to be a barrel of monkeys.

It was no more fun for Sylar. By the time he was done, and if it all went according to plan, there would be a lot of disappointed people- not the best way to demonstrate his leadership abilities, but he had to break a few eggs if he wanted to make an omelet and there was no better time to start. "Matt, Peter and I will be the only ones going." He could tell by the shocked and outraged expressions in the room that he was well on his way to infamy and possible mutiny. He put his hands up to placate them as he explained. "The rest of you will be involved, but you will stay here as backup. You all have parts to play in this, but we need to minimize our exposure." His voice was soft, yet firm. "I don't need to remind any of you that we are up against a very formidable challenge as it is without the very real possibility of being killed by S2. They will take a shot if they have one and they are not looking to take prisoners. We have to be as expedient and stealthy as possible. Get in, find Claire, get out."

"So what's the trick?" Matt asked cautiously. "How are just the three of us going to do that if the place is locked down like Fort Knox?"

"Peter will get us to the facility and you will get us in." He responded simply. "You can use your ability to convince the guards that we are supposed to be there. Make them think we are also employees, agents, cable guys, whatever you think they will buy to get us in the door. From there Rebel can guide us to Claire."

"Who's Rebel?" Emma asked looking around the room, expecting someone to identify themselves. She didn't know they used codenames on missions and it was all very exciting to her.

Peter was probably the only one who knew his real identity, but he sidestepped the question by removing his cell phone from his pocket and giving it a shake to draw her attention. "They texted it to me." She seemed both let down and concerned about the safety of sending such important information via cellphone. "Level 2, cell 3. They can let us know if she gets moved between now and then."

"Level 2?" Sylar seemed equally let down, but after he thought about it, it did make sense. "I guess she isn't really dangerous." He had assumed that she would be held on a more secure level because of who she was rather than what she could do, unlike him, but the likelihood of a clean getaway seemed even more possible if they didn't have to go into the bowels of the building to find her.

Peter shook his head sadly. "You haven't seen her lately." She may not have been dangerous in the conventional sense, but her will more than made up for her slight stature- especially if she had a gun. It bothered him to think about it, but he never gave up hope that when it was all over she could once again regain something of her old self even if her innocence had been lost.

"And then what?" Ando inquired nervously.

"Then we open the cell, either by tripping the lock if it's mechanical or by sheer force." He glanced at Peter to make sure he knew why he had to take Mohinder's power whether he wanted it or not. "And then we run. Peter will bring us back."

"What about Damian?" Maria asked, fully realizing that it would only add to the already daunting challenge. "Can you get him too?" The look of trepidation in Sylar's eyes plainly told her that he didn't want to, but he gave a small nod, almost as though he were granting a personal favor and she was relieved. He didn't know Damian and had no reason to put himself in danger to save him other than her request to do so, but for whatever reason he was willing to and she felt some of the small bit of anger she held for him at her very core slip away. He seemed to sense it and glanced down at what remained of his oatmeal with a tiny, bittersweet smirk.

"So what do we do?" Emma spoke up. She noticed the almost imperceptible exchange between Maria and Sylar and although she didn't know the context, she understood enough of it to try and keep it private so no one else would know.

"Yes," Hiro chimed in anxiously, "how are we going to help?"

Sylar looked up with renewed purpose. Whatever storm that had broken the surface of his placid demeanor had passed and it was back to business. "Hiro, you are the backup transporter if something happens to Peter. One of us will have our phones on with GPS in case of an emergency. Emma, Maria, and Mohinder will be the medical team to support Peter if we need it. Ando, you help out in whatever capacity you are needed." He paused and there was a dark flash in his eyes. "I know what can go on in those cells and it is a possibility that we may not come back unscathed." Peter tensed up as though he too had an understanding of the inner workings and he couldn't disagree with his assessment.

Maria nodded sadly. "We will be here and ready if you need us, but we'll pray that you don't." She hoped that she had seen the worst, but she couldn't stand the thought of any of them coming back wounded and in need of Emma's intervention. Not Matt, not Sylar, hopefully not Peter and especially not Damian.

"Is everyone clear?" Sylar asked standing from the table and looking to each person for affirmation that they were all on the same page. "Alright then," he pushed some buttons on his cell phone and shoved it into his pocket, "if the gods are with us, we will be back in good health and in good company."

"Amen." Mohinder muttered under his breath as Peter reluctantly approached him to take his ability.

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Damian shivered and involuntarily curled himself up tighter into a ball as he slept. Claire watched from her cot across the room, wishing she had a blanket or something to give him since she wasn't bothered by the cold as he was. Although she didn't feel discomfort herself, she remembered a time when she could and it was miserable. She would almost give anything to be that miserable again.

He didn't want to sleep and fought valiantly to keep his eyes open, but in the end he gave into the overwhelming exhaustion mostly at her urging. She promised him she would watch over him so the guards couldn't sneak up on him. It certainly wasn't an irrational fear given what he had endured and it was one she understood well, but his body couldn't heal like hers and he needed the rest. He tried to minimize it, but she could tell that the wounds on his shoulder and leg were causing him pain- she could see it in his eyes and the way he would unconsciously hold his breath when he moved in such a way that aggravated them. He didn't tell her what happened, but she could tell by the small amount of blood that seeped through the thinly woven fabric of his pajamas that they were fairly recent and had been poorly cared for.

She looked down at the pink traces of his blood on her shirt and she knew that it was unsanitary, but it wasn't as though she could catch anything from him if he had some blood borne disease. Still, the socially acceptable thing to do was to wear clean clothes and she had an extra shirt. She quietly got up from her cot and took another glance at him to be sure he was really asleep before pulling her shirt off over her head. It wasn't like she was a prude and the conditions she had lived in during her time on the front more or less dismantled any sense of propriety, but in those situations there was an unspoken understanding that it was pure survival and no one commented on another's need to change clothing in front of everyone or even share an intimate moment while they still could. This wasn't exactly one of those occasions and she didn't want him getting the wrong idea about her even if the guards may have been getting a free peepshow of her in her bra before she quickly slipped on a fresh shirt.

He winced painfully as he readjusted his arm, but quickly fell back asleep and she stared at him curiously. Looking at him from the angle she was, he looked very familiar and it was a little creepy. The thick, dark hair, the slim build, even the shape of his eyes were reminiscent of someone else she knew- someone far more evil and twisted than he himself seemed to be. He wasn't an exact replica of Sylar- he was much taller and had darker features- but they certainly did share some similarities and she began to wonder if it was a coincidence…

The door to the cell opened with a groan and Agent Carter slowly made her way in, only briefly glancing down at Damian as she passed. "I see you survived." She smiled conspiratorially at Claire. "I knew you would. What happened?"

"Nothing." Claire responded defiantly.

Carter gave a patient grin and her tone was almost condescending. "We were watching this time, Claire. He did something, something to make you fall to the floor. What did he do?"

Claire's eyes darted to her sleeping roommate and wondered how much they witnessed, or how much they heard. "I don't know." She whispered. "He doesn't either. Just leave him alone or you might get your answer."

"Why do you think I waited to come until he was asleep?" She asked arching her eyebrow. "I know he's dangerous and I know he doesn't like visitors. The fact that I'm not one of them wouldn't make much of a difference to him I'm sure."

"You're not?" Claire scoffed. "Right. You are the head of the peace and love committee. I forgot."

"Have I done anything to you other than deliver on everything I've promised?" She seemed genuinely hurt. "I don't commit to things that I can't provide. It's not fair to either of us. Is there something you need? All you have to do is ask."

"Not me." Claire shook her head slowly before gesturing to Damian. "He does. He needs a blanket and medicine. Can't you tell he's sick?"

Carter glanced over her shoulder at him and took a long look. "He never asked for anything."

"He was afraid to!" She hissed. "Look at everything he's been through since he got here. Do you really think he trusts anyone?"

"He must trust you." Carter challenged before chuckling softly. "But I will see to your request as an act of good faith. I'm not the enemy, Claire. I hope that you will begin to understand that."

Claire watched her go with a sense of disbelief. Who did she think she was? She had resigned herself to doing whatever she had to in order to make herself and Damian comfortable- even if it meant making Carter believe she was on her side. The truth was, she trusted Sylar far more than she did Carter and that was saying quite a lot. She was mildly surprised when a short time later, a cart loaded with blankets, extra clothing, and a first aid kit was quietly wheeled into the room. She was even more surprised to see that it was Carter who was pushing it. "Thanks." She mumbled hesitantly.

"You should have everything you need," Carter demurred looking back at Damian to be sure she hadn't woken him, "but let me know if I've forgotten something."

"Wait! I'm not a doctor!" Claire protested when it was clear that the supplies were meant for her use. "I don't have a clue what he needs. What if he needs actual medicine like antibiotics or painkillers?"

"Then let me know and I will try to find someone willing to work on him."

"Try?" She asked exasperated. "What the hell does that mean? There are probably hundreds of doctors in this building hired to figure us out."

Carter nodded gently and frowned. "Yes, but word spreads quickly and after what happened in here to the previous medical team, you can understand why others may be hesitant to step in."

"That wasn't his fault. He didn't know what he was doing." She defended. "Tell me you had perfect control over your ability from the day you discovered it."

"Of course not," she replied soothingly, "but my ability doesn't take lives." With that she turned her back with the secret hope that they would eventually get to the bottom of the mystery.

Out in the hallway, Luke watched as Claire covered Damian with the blanket. "Do you think it will work?" He asked Carter when the door closed.

"Probably, but not in the way you think." She replied smugly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She sighed and smiled. "Think about your time while you were running. It was tolerable because you had West. Imagine trying to go it alone. Isolation from others has very bad side effects and when you finally get a chance to make another human connection, people usually jump at the chance." She took a moment to observe Claire as she pulled the blanket up a little higher to better cover her partner. "Right now, she will do or say anything to maintain the connection she has with him because he is the only source of commiseration for her. Give her enough time and she will come to his defense if he is threatened."

"So," he squinted at her, "we're going to threaten him?" He chuckled and added, "The dude somehow drops people from 10 feet away. What the hell are we going to do to him?"

"Nothing." She patiently sighed. "A threat is the implication of danger and as long as she believes it, that's all that matters. She will eventually tell us what she knows to spare him."

Luke was dubious. "Ok, but why bother when you have her boyfriend," he pointed to the next cell, "over there? Instant relationship."

"Because you want a bond that is strong, but not too strong." She explained. "Claire and West are as committed to the cause as they are each other. They won't cooperate because it will be viewed as selling out. There will be more honor in losing the love of your life of even your own than there would be in being a traitor to the rebellion."

Luke stared blankly into West's cell and watched his former friend pace the far wall as was his habit. "You know they will come for her."

"Who?" She asked curiously.

"Her friends." He shrugged, "Maybe Sylar too. Her uncle and Sylar were at the same farm a few months ago and he helped us save him."

She didn't even try to hide the stunned expression on her face. "You know Sylar?"

He smirked at her obvious admiration. "Kinda." He coyly replied. "I mean, we don't hang out and play poker on Friday nights or anything…"

"You said he was at a farm?" She interjected. "You mean as a slave?"

"Yeah, Maria Siegel owned him." He scoffed and shook his head, "Until he ran away and got caught like a dumbass. But after we helped him escape he came back and burned the place down. It was pretty righteous."

"What are the chances of him coming for Claire Bennet?" She asked thoughtfully. "Did he have any connection with her?"

"I don't know him _that_ well, but like I said her uncle seemed pretty tight with him."

"Did you know her uncle?" She persisted.

He was beginning to suspect that her line of questioning was getting a little too detailed. "I think his name was Patrick." He tried to appear nonchalant and gave a light shrug. "But I never saw the guy up close. It was really dark and raining."

"What was his last name?" If he was getting suspicious, she was equally so.

"I don't remember. It started with a 'P'….Pa…Pasternack, something like that."

"Patrick Pasternack?" She echoed incredulously. "That's a hell of a name. I think I'd remember that one."

"Like I said, I only saw the guy once in the dark and it wasn't like he stopped to shake my hand and introduce himself."

"Of course not." She granted softly. "But I think it's best if we alert Security to the possibility. If Sylar comes, we should all be prepared."

Luke tried to project a sense of indifference, but he ended up stammering, "But…if you do, I mean if he does end up here, you won't use the drug you told me about to kill him, will you?" Luke may have thought that his former hero was a dick, but he didn't think he deserved to die.

She gave him a curt smile that cut through the gloom of the dim hallway. "How else will we know if it works?"


	13. Storming the Castle

**A/N: I will be going away this weekend for a well earned vacation, so here's an early update. The action finally gets started! Cheers!**

**Chapter 13- Storming the Castle**

"_The art of war is simple enough. Find out where your enemy is. Get at him as soon as you can. Strike him as hard as you can, and keep moving."  
><em>_-Ulysses S Grant_

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Although it was tortuous, Peter knew that Sylar was right when he insisted they wait until nightfall to make their move. A raid in plain daylight would be suicide- if it wasn't already. He spent the time studying surveillance photographs of the facility that Rebel was able to procure and checking his phone every 2 minutes to make sure he hadn't missed any messages.

Emma noted his uneasiness and quietly sat next to him at the otherwise empty kitchen table. "Are you ok?" She inquired politely. "Are you sure there's no way I can help you?"

Peter slowly smiled as he put his papers down. He could tell that she was sincere in her request, but he just wasn't used to anyone outside of Maria fretting about his welfare. It was often his job to look after everyone else, but seldom did anyone concern themselves with his needs and he felt appreciated for once. "No, I think Sylar's right on this one. You have more training than I do and it's important that you stay here if we need it." That was the best way he could justify it, but in the back of his mind he knew that he too wanted her to stay behind. He promised to protect her and he wasn't sure that he could do that if she went along.

She nodded in understanding. "So this mission you are going on is very dangerous?"

Peter nervously shuffled his papers and a hoarse "Yeah" escaped his lips. Thankfully, it was the motion of his mouth and not the volume of his voice that mattered to her.

"Claire must be very special to you. She's a lucky person."

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he might have detected just a hint of an innuendo and he shook his head as he laughed. "Claire's my niece." He didn't want there to be any misunderstandings about the nature of the relationship…if in fact she was dropping hints… "So yeah, I guess she is special. Just not very lucky or we wouldn't have to do this."

"I see." She seemed pleased with his explanation. "Blood is thicker than water, but at least you have your friends to help you."

"I wouldn't call Sylar a friend." He corrected. "He's more like a mercenary, but at least if he says he'll help you, you can count on him."

"Thanks for that." Came Sylar's sarcastic, husky voice from the hallway leading to the kitchen. He stepped out of the shadows and raised his eyebrow in condescension. "And for the record, I wouldn't consider you a friend either."

The gesture was meant to be menacing, but Peter was far too familiar with his nemesis' postures to be intimidated. "And what does it take then to be a friend of yours if saving your ass isn't good enough?"

Sylar leaned on the counter across from Peter and smirked. "Friendship is nothing more than a social contract with unrealistic expectations of loyalty and unending demands. They are tedious, contentious, and tiresome. While I can understand why that might be an attractive proposition for you, I prefer a business model approach of mutual benefit. When the contract for a particular goal is reached, it expires and the relationship ends unless a new contract is agreed on."

Peter shook his head in amazement. "And that's why when you find yourself in trouble, you have no one to help you aside from people like us who care about you even though you don't deserve it."

"You don't care about me, you care about how I can help you in the future. Let's be honest about that fact." He coolly replied. "It's the only reason you brought me here. Patch me up so I can go back out and win the war, isn't that right?"

Peter's eyes were resolute. "I would have come for you even if we weren't in a war because you asked me to." He said with utter conviction. "You could have walked away, Sylar, You had a choice. Now maybe helping us serves some contractual purpose in your mind, but to me, that's what a friend would do."

Sylar regarded him from under his dark eyebrows in silence before quietly summing, "Then I will leave you to your delusions. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Whatever." Peter huffed as he rolled his eyes. "Are we going or not?"

"Whenever Matt decides to join us." He shrugged lightly.

"He's taking a nap." Emma volunteered. "He was pretty tired from the effects of the serum. I'll go wake him up." She started to leave and then turned back to Sylar. "How are you? Are you having any problems?"

Sylar stared at her blankly, almost as if he couldn't believe she would ask such a thing. Truthfully, she put him on the spot and Peter was looking at him intently for an answer. If she hadn't said anything, he might not have thought to ask. "Matt doesn't have the benefit of my healing ability." He finally replied. It was the best non-answer he could come up with on short notice. The truth was, he felt incredibly weak and sick, but he was doing his best not to show it. So much of the mission's success was hinged on confidence, and if they suspected he wasn't reliable, it would all fall apart.

Matt was a little hard to wake up, but not more than 30 minutes later, the trio found themselves squatting in the dense woods outside of the facility in northern Virginia. It was cold, and they were dressed as warmly as possible, but still they shivered in the darkness as they finalized their plans. "Ok," Sylar began, his breath making small clouds as he exhaled, "Matt, after you do your Jedi mind trick to get us in, we'll head directly to Level 2 to get Claire." He pulled out his phone and began typing furiously.

"What are you doing?" Matt asked yawning.

"Finding out where this Damian kid is." Sylar answered. "It would be helpful if we knew going in rather than trying to find him after the fact." Rebel was prompt with his response and Sylar couldn't help but smile. "Looks like Claire's a co-ed."

"What?" Peter asked frowning. It wasn't his business, Claire was an adult and could do what she felt was appropriate with whomever she wanted, but there was still a part of him that wondered just how good this Damian guy really was.

"Rebel says they are in the same cell."

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. "Did they ever put anyone in with you?" It just seemed strange and not the standard protocol.

Sylar paused to think about it. "Once, but she was your mother's gift to me to…" he lowered his voice, "unwrap."

"Jesus, man." Matt gave him a disgusted look. "I didn't think you were a rapist."

"I'm not!" Sylar hissed defensively. Peter thought it was funny how he could so easily admit to murder, but the thought of forcing himself on anyone sexually was simply revolting to him. He slowly drew a pointed finger across his own forehead in an attempt to explain it to Matt.

"Oh." He nodded once he got it. "Still, dude."

"I wasn't going to ask, but after that brilliant display of intelligence, what did you come up with to get us in?" Sylar asked impatiently. "You know that cable guy suggestion was a joke as well in case you didn't get that one either."

"I got it." Matt informed him with a glare. "And I figured the best way in isn't to lie at all."

"Ok." Peter agreed cautiously. While he was fairly good at reading minds, he wasn't nearly as skilled at pushing them as Matt was, which was probably why he was invited to the party. "So what's the plan?"

Matt smiled grandly at Sylar. "Take off your coat."

"What?" He squinted suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because you are going to be our prisoner, now take it off." He demanded. Sylar had a dubious look on his face as he reluctantly shuffled out of the only thing that was keeping him from freezing and dropped it into a heap at the base of the nearest tree. Matt picked up a nearby rock and tossed it up in the air before catching it. "You'll have to believe me when I say I'm not enjoying this. Don't fight." With those words, he struck Sylar in the side of the head, sending him to the ground in a heap.

He rolled around on the cold, hard earth holding his temples to make the ringing in his ears stop. "Somehow I don't believe you." He growled. "Was that absolutely necessary?"

"Yeah." Matt confirmed stabbing him with a sharp stick to create long lacerations on his torso. "So's this."

"You know he's just going to heal." Peter pointed out. It was tough for him to watch the brutality and he wanted it to stop.

"I know." Matt panted out of breath while Sylar lay bleeding. "I just need him to look the part and for that we need blood." He slowly extended his hand to his vanquished foe to help him up. "You ok, man?"

"Great." Sylar exhaled into the darkness, ignoring Matt's offer of assistance. He knew his healing ability would work just as Peter said it would, it was just going much slower than usual and he hoped they wouldn't notice in the darkness. After a few tense seconds, he smirked. "It is a pretty good idea, but couldn't you just make them believe I looked like this?"

"Some, yeah, but I can't control every mind in a building that big. God knows how many people are in there. The less I have to concentrate, the better."

"Fair enough." He sat up slowly and was careful not to wipe away the blood that streamed down the side of his face from the wound over his eye that was still in the process of closing. He simply didn't want a re-do. Matt certainly got what he wanted: he was dirty, bloody, and his shirt was torn. He looked like he put up a good fight even though he didn't so much as lift a finger to defend himself. Affording Matt such a cathartic experience retribution free was probably one of the hardest things he had ever done in his life.

"One last thing." Matt jingled a shiny pair of handcuffs and gestured for him to stand up and turn around.

"Seriously?" Sylar was somewhat insulted. "Is this an actual plan or some kind of fantasy of yours?" He hung his head while Matt clamped the cool metal loosely around his wrists behind his back. "Are you at least going to frisk me?" He asked sarcastically.

"I don't do reach arounds." Matt laughed, giving him a slight shove to make him start walking. "By the way, I didn't bring the keys." Sylar stopped dead in his tracks and glared over his shoulder. "Relax. When the time comes, you can use your mojo to pick the locks, right?" He taunted.

As he plodded along in the cold toward the gates of the facility bound by his restraints, he casually asked Peter, "Did you know about this?" Peter shook his head innocently and he knew he wasn't lying. The Boy Scout would never willingly be party to such an act of humiliation and brutality and it reminded him of his first day at Maria's when he was marched up the steps wearing little more than his handcuffs. It was almost as degrading and knowing that it was all for a higher purpose didn't make him feel any better about it. It was just as well Matt didn't share his idea until the last minute or he would have surely sent him back to the drawing board until he came up with something more palatable.

The collective mood grew tense as they approached the gates. "Halt!" A guard ordered. He wasn't the only one, Sylar noted, there were four more in guard towers with machine guns and at least six more along the roof in sniper positions watching their every move through binoculars. "Identify yourselves."

"Agents Walker and Mills." On cue, he and Peter displayed their empty wallets with stern expressions. "We captured a high ranking member of the rebellion and we were ordered to bring him here."

"Who's the prisoner?" The guard asked in an intrigued tone. "We didn't get any orders."

"We just picked him up." Matt slowly said, carefully using his ability. "It's Sylar."

"No shit?" The guard approached them with a sense of awe and trepidation. He carefully lifted Sylar's chin to get a good look at his bloody face. "It's really him?"

"Yeah." Peter confirmed, trying to maintain a sense of authoritarian machismo. "Turns out he's not so tough without his superpowers." Sylar gave him an evil sideways glance and he didn't know if it was just for effect or if there was meaning behind it, but he didn't feel the threat was credible enough to warrant using his own ability to find out.

"So the new ammo works?" The guard asked lifting his own weapon to indicate it was loaded with S2.

"Apparently." Matt sighed. "Look, it's been a long day. We just want to drop him off and go home."

"Sure," the guard agreed opening the gate, "but you guys know that you've just caught the biggest fish out there. You will be all over the news as heroes. Do you know where he's going?"

"Yep." Matt affirmed, giving Sylar another casual shove forward and a wary look to Peter. The last thing they needed was to be on TV. "We got him this far, we can take him to his cell."

The three of them entered the brightly lit, sterile white halls of the facility through a heavy steel door. The hall looked empty, but they were fully aware that there were cameras trained on them. "You know I still don't believe that you aren't enjoying this just a little." Sylar sneered at Matt.

"So what if I am?" He asked quietly. "Shut up and walk."

Sylar led them directly to an elevator that took them to the second floor. As the light melody of musak filled the elevator, Peter initially thought Sylar had made a mistake because the elevator was going down instead of up, but the killer didn't seem to be at all confused by it. He softly whistled along with the tune to cover the jingling sound of the cuffs as they were magically released from his wrists. He deftly caught them and tucked them neatly into his back pocket with such minimal movement that it didn't look like anything had happened and it wasn't until they exited into the dark halls of the holding cells that he allowed his hands to swing freely at his sides. "Level 2," he announced, stopping in front of the window to the furthest holding pen, "cell 3." He spent enough time memorizing the layout of similar facilities that he knew the exact location of every bathroom and broom closet. The government was so efficient that it never changed the floor plan in order to expedite the building of the prisons, and Sylar used that laziness to his advantage.

Peter paused at the window to see his niece sitting at the side of a young man who had to be Damian. The glass wasn't thick enough to block the feeling of friendly concern she had for him and it was etched on her face as she watched him sleep. For just a brief moment, Peter was hopeful that his wishes for her were still possible- there was still a part of her that wasn't lost. Despite everything she had witnessed, in one unguarded moment she let her true self emerge and it was the Claire he's always known. He hadn't seen that side of her in so long he was reluctant to carry on with the mission if it meant the moment would fade, but he knew that every second he stood gawking at the window was another second that brought them closer to capture.

Sylar casually twitched his fingers to trip the magnetic lock to the door and pushed it open with his telekinesis while he remained in the hall. "Go on," he encouraged Matt and Peter, "I'll stay here, but make it fast. It will only be a matter of seconds before someone notices and sounds the alarm."

Almost as if he were listening, Rebel pinged Sylar's phone with a message: VIDEO'S ON FEEDBACK LOOP- GUARDS WON'T KNOW.

"What was that?" Matt asked suspiciously.

"Nothing." He mumbled, shoving the phone into his front pocket. "Get moving. We don't have all night." He had his own reasons for remaining behind in the dim hallway. He didn't think Claire would exactly be glad to see him and he could hide the fact that he felt like passing out. He was a firm believer in never letting anyone see him sweat and he needed all the cover he could get. He leaned against the cool glass window and waited.

Inside the cell, Claire was so overjoyed to see Matt and Peter that she couldn't manage a visible reaction. She sat numbly on the edge of Damian's bed, her mouth twitching into a smirk before fading in shock again repeatedly. She knew deep down that she shouldn't have been surprised that Peter would come for her, but now that the possibility was a reality she didn't know what to say. He placed his warm hands on her shoulders and squatted in front of her with a worried expression. "Are you ok, Claire?"

"Yeah," she slowly replied as though it were all just a dream, "how did you…I mean, why…"

"I'll explain it all later." He promised, giving her a reassuring pat on the knee. "But for now we have to get out of here before someone notices."

"Is this the Damian kid?" Matt asked pointing down at the now stirring man.

Claire nodded her head and then looked worried when Damian noticed there were more people in the room- people he'd never seen before. "They are my friends." She placated when she watched his eyes widen with fear. "They aren't here to hurt you, I promise. Remember I told you about Peter?" She placed her hand on her uncle's shoulder and gave it a good whack. "This is him."

"Really?" Damian asked as he sat up and smoothed his unruly hair. Unfortunately he used his left hand and he tried not to make it so obvious that he couldn't quite reach all the way up. It seemed he was getting worse, not better, but he couldn't hide his sense of awe. "You're Senator Petrelli's brother?"

"Yeah," Peter gave a warm and friendly smile, "I am." He took note of the blood stained pajamas and the way he seemed to have difficulty moving. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the kid needed help. His voice was soft and reassuring. "I'm also a paramedic. I can take a look at you once we get out of here. Will you be able to make it on your own?"

"I think so." He nodded. He was stiff and sore, but suddenly he was filled with energy at the prospect of escape. It seemed impossible, but if Peter was everything Claire said he was, he was all in for the adventure. He really had nothing left to lose.

They were interrupted by a sharp tapping on the glass. "What was that?" Claire asked nervously.

"Sylar." Matt answered dryly. "Apparently time's up."

"Sylar?" Damian went pale thinking of what he'd see on the way out. He imagined the hallways stacked with bloodied and dead guards and light fixtures blinking and sparking. "Why is he here? They will kill him."

"He knows that, that's why we have to go." Peter said grimly as he helped him stand and walk to the hallway.

Claire stepped into the hallway to see Sylar leaning against the glass, but there was something unusual about him. The fact that he was bloodied didn't surprise her because it couldn't have been easy to just break in as they did- some damage was to be expected. Maybe it was the way he seemed to slouch more than casually lean or perhaps it was the tranquil neutrality in his eyes that replaced the usual predatory glare, but whatever it was it wasn't enough to erase her longstanding mistrust of him.

"Claire." He greeted with a slight nod. He could almost taste the poison pouring out of her eyes.

"You have to get West." She demanded.

His dark eyes widened slightly at her audacity. "I do?"

"Don't think for one second that this changes my opinion of you." She gestured to her open cell door.

Sylar's eyes followed her hand before returning to her eyes. "And getting this person will?" The mocking tone of his voice made it clear that he already knew the answer.

"Please." She hissed through clenched teeth as she took a step closer to him. "Get him out." She hated asking him for anything, but even she got the distinct impression that if it was going to be done, it would only be with his consent.

"Well," he breathed in a bored tone as he glanced distractedly to the side, "since you asked so nicely…" If he had the time he may have made her beg more or wait longer, but this was not part of the plan and he didn't have time to waste even if he would have considered it time well spent. He sauntered to the cell she indicated with a pointed finger and sprung the lock with ease, allowing her to run in and grab her completely unsuspecting boyfriend while he watched from the window.

"Wait, Claire…" West protested even as she drug him out into the hall, "what are you…" He took note of two of the men he found in the woods the rainy night they saved Sylar and the devil himself along with Claire's new boytoy. "You." He growled at Sylar.

Sylar gave a slight scoff as he smirked. "You're welcome."

"You know you won't get out of here alive." He warned. "They want your head on a platter."

"So let's not hang out here and give them…" He was interrupted by a barrage of gunfire before the alarms were actually activated. "Go!" He ordered, shooing everyone toward a stairwell.

"Jesus!" Matt yelled ducking for cover. "Peter, now would be a good time to get out of here."

Claire kneeled and clamped down on the blood gushing from Peter's thigh while he struggled to remain conscious. "Peter's been shot!" She called while her compatriots ran, leaving her behind.

"Go, Claire." Peter gasped. He knew that she wasn't as invincible as she thought she was. If the S2 was neutralizing his ability to heal, it would her too and he couldn't bear the thought of failing. "You have to get out of here. Follow Sylar. Go!" He used what remaining power he had to give her a telekinetic shove toward the door where she was forcefully grabbed by Matt and hauled into the safety of the stairwell.

"Peter!" She screamed, trying to break free. "We can't leave him, they'll kill him!" She looked desperately at Sylar, her eyes pleading for him to act.

He stood there for just a second as time seemed to slow to a crawl, debating what he should do. Peter was warned that no one would come for him if he was captured, but didn't he already change the plan once for Claire? If he did it once, he lost the moral high ground and everyone was looking to him to save their comrade. He also knew his own abilities were not up to par and going back for him would put his own life in danger. Reluctantly, he turned and ran back out into the hail of bullets because it was the only logical thing to do: he couldn't allow Peter to be captured. He was too valuable to the cause and he had to at least make an attempt to save him because he simply couldn't allow his best soldier to perish. Peter wasn't just another egg to be broken for the omelet, he was a golden egg.

Sylar did his best to hold back the mounting tide of S2 coated lead that was fired at him from all directions, but the effort was almost greater than the energy he had and the air quickly grew dark with the sheer number of bullets he held in suspension. Normally he would have used his telekinetic ability to pull Peter toward him, but he couldn't afford to divide his attention so he had to physically drag him back by his shirt while he held the bullets at bay. He stumbled backwards into the safety of the stairwell and slumped against the wall while the door swung shut and hundreds of rounds of ammunition fell to the floor like rain.

Damian approached him and painfully kneeled by his side. "Are you ok?" He asked, concerned by the blood that streamed from his nose and the dazed look in his eyes. He couldn't imagine ever being so close to the man who was responsible for the things he read in reports, but no matter what people said about him on the news, he did just risk his life to save a member of his team. That had to count for something. "Did you get shot too?" The bloodied, disheveled man before him shattered the perception of him as an invincible force of nature and it was the only explanation he could think of.

Sylar blinked lazily and seemed distracted because he was using what remained of his strength to keep the door shut with his mind. It was only a matter of time before the guards would either blow in the door or stream down the stairs like a colony of ants on the attack. "No," he slurred, "tell Matt it's time for plan B."

"Got it." Matt yelled over the sound of bullets bouncing off the steel door while he sent the SOS message to Hiro.

Claire held Peter's head in her lap while West looked on helplessly. "Can't you take my ability or something?" She asked futility placing her hand in his to encourage him to take it. The fact that he was so calm was worrisome to her. She almost preferred he scream in agony rather than just lay there as though he were falling asleep.

He gave her hand a light squeeze. "I already have it." He was getting pale although the blood flow was slowing to a trickle. She hoped it was because he was healing and not simply running out of it. "It's the drug, the S2. It's preventing it from working."

"He's fading." Damian warned. "His….sparkle, or whatever." He looked over at Sylar and noted, "Yours too."

"My sparkle?" Sylar asked somewhat disturbed. He didn't know he sparkled at all. Peter he could understand because he was all rainbows and glitter, but not him. He saw himself as more of a dark energy kind of guy.

Damian started to explain, but thought better of it when he remembered Claire's warning about Sylar taking his head off. Perhaps it was best not to indulge his curiosity. He jumped when an Asian man suddenly appeared next to him with a stern expression on his face and demanded that they all touch. Damian was very uncomfortable with Sylar's grasp on his wrist, and judging by his expression, the legendary super villain was as well but he seemed resigned. "Just go with it." He advised before they all disappeared from their temporary safe haven.


	14. Triage

**A/N: Hola to Liz, and may I just say huzza to ZQ for having the courage to come out yesterday and give hope and inspiration to members of the LGBT community and remind us all that while true equality remains to be achieved, living openly and honestly is a step toward real progress. **

**Chapter 14- Triage**

"_Forgiveness is not always easy. At times, it feels more painful than the wound we suffered, to forgive the one that inflicted it. And yet, there is no peace without forgiveness."_

_-Marianne Williamson_

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Maria knew that the situation was dire the moment Hiro's phone started belting out ludicrously cartoonish sounding music and he frowned when he read the screen. He didn't explain or even say goodbye- he didn't need to. Everyone in the room knew what the call was and every one of them held their collective breath when he disappeared to fulfill his role in Plan B. Even Emma seemed to understand the gravity of the situation and she quietly began checking her array of medical supplies she had prepared on the counter. If Hiro had been summoned, that meant something had gone terribly wrong and Peter wasn't able to bring them back. Emma believed in keeping a calm head, she had to in order to be a successful doctor, and she also believed that preparation would go a long way in avoiding costly mistakes and wasted time but there was no way she could prepare for what happened.

It seemed as quickly as Hiro left, he had returned and suddenly the floor of the lab was littered with the bodies of the wounded and the traumatized. It looked like he had pulled them directly from the front lines of a war- one that by all indications they had nearly lost judging by the way their eyes stared vacantly around as though they were still experiencing the horror around them. It broke Maria's heart to see them all so young and scared. It frightened her more when Claire's eyes finally met with hers and she saw nothing but despair as she cradled Peter's head in her lap. Maria was speechless, staring down at her beloved assistant as he quietly bled on her floor and looked to be dead. She once told him that she could never bear seeing him hurt as he was and she meant every word, she was paralyzed with sorrow. Peter didn't deserve to suffer and although she desperately wanted to help him, she was frozen. Thankfully, Emma had the stomach for it and took over the chaotic scene with far more certitude than she could ever muster in the face of so much suffering.

Emma waded into the crowd, looking over each one carefully but quickly to assess the hierarchy of medical rationing. "Mohinder, help Matt get him onto the table." She ordered, pointing down at Peter. "And then get some pressure on the wound." She squatted by Claire as Peter was carried away from her and gave her a compassionate look. "Thank you for bringing him back. Are you ok?"

Claire looked at her blankly. "Physically yes, but…" her eyes began to water just a little, "what about Peter? Will he be ok?"

Emma always believed that the best policy was honesty. "I don't know. But I promise you I will do everything I can, ok?" She got a small nod from her and that would have to do for the moment. She stood up and resumed her inspections, clearing Hiro and West before stopping briefly at Damian and deciding that his needs weren't emergent. While he did need attention, his wounds looked to be a little older and could wait. Finally, she kneeled next to Sylar who hadn't moved much since his arrival. She lifted his torn and bloodied shirt to look for any wounds and he attempted to bat her hand away, but she was faster and more persistent than he bargained for. Lucky for him, the traces of being gouged with a sharp stick and bludgeoned had faded, leaving behind perfectly healthy skin and therefore nothing for her to pester him about, but it wasn't that easy. She noted the fresh blood running from his nose and the uncharacteristically slow reaction time of his movements. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn he looked like he had a concussion, but even if that were the case she had bigger fish to fry.

She crossed the floor to Maria, who was still staring at Peter in disbelief as he lay languidly on her table. Emma grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to face the other side of the room. "I need your help." She declared in a steely voice in an attempt to get her to snap out of it. She fully understood how it must have felt for her to see him like that, but there was no sense in grieving when he wasn't dead yet and they still had a chance. "I need you to go check on Sylar. See if you can get him to respond to you. Sit with him, talk to him, do anything you have to make sure he's ok. Can you do that?" Maria's eyes drifted to Sylar and they hardened with a sense of resolve. "Good. Once he's alert, look at the other man. Get Claire to help you if you want, but let me know what you find." With that, she turned her attention to Peter with every intention of keeping her promise to Claire.

Maria positioned herself at Sylar's side and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. "Gabriel." She quietly called, giving him a light shake to rouse his attention, "Gabriel, can you open your eyes?" He slowly turned his head to her and lifted his dark eyes to hers. They were clearer and sharper than she was expecting, but their color harkened back to when she first met him: a warm, chocolate brown devoid of ill will or malice of any kind. "Hello," she stammered somewhat surprised by his apparent change in condition. "Emma asked me to come and check on you…make sure you were ok." She paused and with a small smile asked, "Are you?"

He lay there amid the chaos and tension in the room like an island of calm while the world swirled around him. Was he ok? In a manner of speaking…as much as he could ever be, that was, given all that he'd experienced and done both before and during the war. Even up until recently, he always assumed that no matter what happened, no matter how crazy the world became that empires would rise and fall but he would live through it all. But a short distance away, Peter looked like he was losing his battle and he was reminded that his own immortality was no guarantee. Call it a moment of crisis or post traumatic stress, but a softly whispered 'no' fell from his lips and he didn't regret it.

The sincerity in his eyes was overwhelming to her and it was as though he were secretly pleading with her to fix him in some way, to offer some sense of peace or serenity and she wasn't sure she could do it, but she felt compelled to try. She bravely smiled and promised herself she would be as open with him as she could. If she didn't have the right words to say, then perhaps he would at least be able to pick up on the sentiment behind them and know that she would support him as much as she was able and hope it was enough. "Thank you, Gabriel, for risking your life to save Claire and Damian. It means a lot to me that you brought him back here where he's safe."

Sylar looked away, completely unaccustomed to being appreciated so directly by his given name, but he managed a small nod of acceptance. What he couldn't bring himself to tell her was that deep within his soul, his hunger clawed at him mercilessly and Damian's slip about his ability dangerously whetted his appetite. It was torturously maddening- the thought of possessing a new power and the temporary satiation of his torment would have been a divine relief, but he chose to swallow it all down and deny himself the very thing that would ease his own suffering because he couldn't bring himself to wound her a second time. In the end, it was better that he suffer than she. It was a mutual contract that had no expiration date- probably one of the few he'd ever agree to.

She noted the shyness with which he responded and just for a moment she was taken back to the time before the war when he sat at his desk, smiling demurely after she'd embarrassed him in much the same way. It was endearing perhaps because it was so contrary to his reputation. "And I didn't get to thank you for the beautiful watch you sent. Someone with impeccable taste, indeed."

A slow smile graced his lips. "I suppose if you ever needed to, you could sell it."

"For what?" She laughed. "A ride into space on a Russian shuttle?"

"That might just about cover it."

"I think I'll hold onto it just the same." She assured him. "It was an incredibly thoughtful gift, but really, it wasn't necessary."

"Gifts aren't." He reminded. "However, it was more of a payment- something owed."

"You don't owe me anything." She said quietly. "Knowing that you are well is good enough for me." She frowned at his torn and bloody clothing, a reminder of what once was. "Well, relatively speaking."

He bravely looked into her eyes with a sense of gravity and ventured, "Let's not ignore the elephant in the room, here. I think we both know we can't pretend forever." She sighed and hung her head, unwilling to face the moment. "I can appreciate that you didn't know about me when I first came here, but now that you do you don't have to humor me for Peter's sake. I am a killer, Maria, and I don't expect you to understand it but I know that there are consequences for my choices. I know that there is a part of you that resents me, I can see it every time you look at me. You have to swallow it down in order to face me."

Her eyes swelled with tears and her voice trembled slightly. "Because you killed him."

He nodded slightly. "I did."

"Are you even sorry for what you did?" She asked, her hot tears falling down her cheeks and soaking into his tattered shirt.

His eyes were steady and unflinching. "I wish I could tell you that I'm sorry for taking his life, but I'm not." He waited for her to curse him or slap him in the face, but she just quietly sobbed and that was almost infinitely worse. When he felt the moment had passed and she could hear him, he continued, "What I can tell you is that I didn't mean to bring you so much misery. As I said, I know that there are consequences for my choices, but I've never stuck around to see them. I can't bring him back or replace what you've lost, but I am aware of what I've done. I know that you may never believe me when I tell you that I never wanted to be the monster that I am, but that's what I've become and I have to live with it."

"You don't have to be." She smiled sadly. "You write your own future and you can be the better person you want to be. I can see it in you, you are still good."

"Not enough." He whispered as he looked away in despair. He had tried to change…and failed.

"Then grow it." She demanded. "Nurture your good side and let it see the light of day. You have proven to me that you are capable of honor and worthy of respect by your actions- by not giving me up to Jessup, by saving Damian only because I asked you to. I am deeply grateful to you for those things. I can't help but miss the man I thought I would grow old with, but denying you the opportunity to better yourself if you truly regret your actions hardly seems the appropriate way to honor his memory."

His eyes were wide with apprehension and his voice was halting. "So, you forgive me?" It seemed too good to be true. She had to hate him, she simply had to.

She sighed. "I can't offer you absolution right here on the spot, but I can promise you I will work on it so long as you do." He couldn't promise her anything either, and given his history the prospect of his ever gaining her complete confidence seemed remote, but something was better than nothing. She at least believed in him and that was more than anyone else had dared do…except for perhaps Peter but even he was starting to lose faith and see his potential in more realistic terms. "Are you sure you will be alright?" She checked.

He gave an affirmative nod. "I just need a little time to rest. I feel so tired."

"Your old room is still available." She suggested. "And you've become such a light sleeper that I don't think you can stay down here. You won't get a minute's peace."

He faintly smiled as his eyes drifted shut. "I'll go in a minute." Yes, he had become a light sleeper, but that was partially because he didn't feel safe and for the moment that had changed. He dropped off in record time knowing that he need not be paranoid and his body demanded downtime to repair itself.

Maria stood quietly so as not to disturb him and glanced over at Emma and Mohinder as they continued to work on Peter. She wanted desperately to know if any progress had been made, but she thought it best to let them work uninterrupted. She couldn't read minds the way Matt could, but she could discern facial expressions and Emma's grim demeanor wasn't encouraging. Per the doctor's orders, Gabriel had been attended to and appeared to be in better shape than initially thought, so she moved on to Damian who had taken a seat on a countertop, patiently waiting his turn in solitude- his right leg swinging like a pendulum marking the time.

"Damian," She smiled as she approached, "nice to see you again."

He returned her friendly gesture timidly. "Thank you, Mrs. Siegel." He immediately flushed red with embarrassment when he realized his mistake. "I mean, Ms. Siegel." He nervously pursed his lips and mumbled, "Sorry. I didn't mean to…"

"It's ok." She granted. She knew he meant no harm, he always was a polite and contentious young man. "I haven't seen you since you moved to New York. You certainly have grown, haven't you?"

He grinned broadly and gave an easy laugh. "I guess so. That was about 8 years ago."

"Well, I'm sorry we have to meet again like this, but I am glad that you're more or less alright." She spoke softly and gestured to his bloody clothes. "What happened to you, Damian?"

His blue eyes darkened slightly and he glanced away, hoping she wouldn't see the memories of the misery and torture he suffered at the hands of the agents reflected in them. "I um…" he stammered uncomfortably, "I ran into some trouble back in DC."

She recognized his reluctance for what it was and decided not to push him for details. Perhaps he would tell her at a later time when he felt ready. "Can I see?" She asked hopefully. "I have unfortunately gained some experience in first aid since the war started. I can help you if it isn't too serious."

He was hesitant at first, but decided that he was among colleagues and he trusted them not to make a big deal of his injuries because there were others among them in far worse shape to obsess about. It just wasn't in his nature to be the center of attention and everyone else seemed preoccupied with watching the drama on the table unfold. He slowly peeled off his shirt, pausing a few times to gently work his injured shoulder into a position that allowed him to free himself from the sleeve with little more than an occasional "ouch" as his stiff muscles pulled painfully, but he persevered and gave a small sigh of relief when the ordeal was over. His simple cotton shirt may as well have been a straightjacket and he tried not to flinch as Maria pulled off the bandages.

She paused as she took in the red and swollen bullet wound that permeated his left shoulder just below the collarbone. "You ran into some trouble, alright." She noted dryly. "Or rather it ran into you. Did you go to a hospital?"

"Yes," he dutifully answered, "but they obviously didn't do anything because they thought I had powers." He shook his head sadly. "I guess they were right."

She felt sorry for him. To be injured and denied medical care for an ability he didn't know he had must have added to the trauma he experienced- and it couldn't have happened to a less deserving person. "I'm sorry, Damian." She consoled as she gently swabbed the area with antiseptic in the hopes it wasn't too badly infected. If it was half as painful as it looked, he was in bad shape but doing an admirable job in hiding it. "I always knew you were special, just not like that." He gave her a small smile, which encouraged her to continue. "So what is it that you can do?"

He hung his head. "I don't know. Kill people, I guess." He peeked up at his former neighbor fully expecting her to be disgusted by his very presence. "Some ability, huh? I guess it was too much to ask to just fly or something."

Maria was a little disturbed by his admission, but she wasn't quite ready to jump to conclusions. "What do you mean you kill people? How?"

"I don't know." He sighed in exasperation. "It just happens. I don't even know how because I usually pass out and when I wake up, everyone's dead." He glanced miserably in Claire's direction as she was standing by West's side and he wrapped his arms around her while they watched Peter's decline unfold before their very eyes. "I even did it to her, but she woke up again. She's lucky." His eyes filled with sadness and self loathing. "I shouldn't even be here. I don't know if it will happen again and if it does…"

"We will take that chance." Maria stated, placing her hand on his arm to comfort him. "You don't have it in your heart to hurt people, Damian, you never have. Even as a child you cried when you stepped on ants on the sidewalk. I'm surprised you learned to walk at all because your poor mother had to carry you everywhere until you got too big."

He smiled bashfully. "Maybe I was just lazy."

"You have never been lazy." Maria argued. "You were the type of kid that didn't play outside because you were busy helping your mother fold laundry or feed and look after your younger siblings. I remember being at your house when you were about 7 and I watched you spend a solid hour patiently teaching your sister how to tie her shoes. Now tell me that's what a lazy kid does."

"I guess not." He reluctantly admitted. He didn't see himself as extraordinary for those things, it just seemed like the right thing to do.

"I never had an ability, but Bryant did. What I learned from him is that no matter what gift you have, it's your intentions that matter and as long as you listen to your heart you can't go wrong. What happened was an accident because I can't believe for a minute that you planned it even if they deserved it."

"It was, but I don't know how to control it. Claire said that maybe Peter could help me figure it out but…" He couldn't make himself finish because he didn't want to seem pessimistic or selfish.

Claire heard her name from across the room and noted the hopeless mood that seemed to have overtaken Damian as he sat with his shoulders slumped. She heard enough of the sentence to know the context of his concerns and she took leave to give her opinion- even if it wasn't immediately embraced enthusiastically, which she was almost certain it wouldn't be. She was even less certain it would actually work, but it was worth a shot. "Hey," she smiled nervously when he looked to her as she got closer, "I couldn't help but overhear the conversation. I hope you don't mind, but I have a crazy idea."

He wasn't convinced of her mental state to begin with, but he was willing to entertain just about any possibility. "What's that?"

"Well," she began slyly, "I did suggest that Peter might be able to help you figure out your ability, but there is one other option. I know it's not the best and it would take some work, but it will certainly solve the problem and we will have definite answers."

Damian perked up at the possibility of a solution to his dilemma. "What is it?" He asked expectantly.

Claire's fingers twisted into a ball of knots in front of her as she gave a hopeful smile and rocked back and forth on her heels. "…Sylar?" She proposed in a small voice. Suddenly he didn't seem so excited to adopt her idea and everyone else who heard her thought she had lost her mind as well, including Sylar who watched her with a slight scowl on his face. Seeing he was awake and very dubious, she kneeled down beside him and leaned in close so only he could hear. He flinched slightly as her blonde hair fell over her shoulder, brushing his cheek as she whispered, "Just hear me out, Sylar. I don't know what all he can do with his ability, but if anyone has a chance at figuring it out quickly, it's you. This is a winning situation for everybody here. You get a shiny new toy to play with, Damian gets answers and we all get to live if he can control it."

"Not everyone wins," he reminded her in a flat tone, "Damian will have to pay a pretty high price for his answers. You know how I work."

"Not this time. You don't have to kill him." She hissed. "You have the ability to use empathy, the same as Peter."

"I'm not Peter." His eyes were dangerously dark. He could only tolerate so much of Claire's demanding, immature nature. It was true he was a patient man but even he had limits.

Sensing she was getting nowhere with him, she softened her stance and changed her tone. "Please," she asked with all sincerity, "you might be the only hope we have to save Peter."

Sylar paused, momentarily shaken by her sudden yet honest change in demeanor. She wasn't trying to play a game with him- she was genuinely throwing herself on his mercy and asking for his help. "So that's what this is really about."

"Yes." She fully admitted. "Damian somehow sees…I don' know…people's life force or something and he can take it away. If he can take it away, maybe it can be given to others."

Sylar's eyes widened slightly and darted to the side as his mind quickly worked through the mechanics and implications. "Like telekinesis."

"Maybe…" She guessed in an encouraging tone. She didn't know how telekinesis worked, but if it in any way made sense to him, she was willing to go along with it. "I don't need to tell you how important Peter is to me…to all of us. Please," she implored him, "do this one thing."

"And?" He asked, his eyebrow arching slightly.

"And I will only hate you for just shy of eternity for what you did to me."

He seemed to contemplate the deal before giving a tight nod. "It's a start."


	15. For Pete's Sake

**Chapter 15- For Pete's Sake**

"_We must not indulge in unfavorable views of mankind, since by doing it we make bad men believe they are no worse than others, and we teach the good that they are good in vain."_

_-Walter Winchell_

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

Emma frowned tensely as she worked to close the wound in Peter's thigh. By some miracle he hadn't bled to death even though he should have long ago. She had only just met him and she didn't really know much aside from what her owner had told her, but she already felt as though she were trying to save someone of great importance. If she failed it wouldn't just be the loss of one man's life, it would alter the course of the revolution. Sylar may have been the architect and brains of the mission, but Peter was its heart and she felt the weight of the room's collective expectations weighing on her every move.

Peter's hazel eyes would occasionally open and flutter shut almost as the only outward sign he could still manage to let them all know that he was still around and very much alive despite the odds. As a nurse and paramedic, he knew very well the state and prognosis of his own condition by the rate of blood that oozed from the bullet wound. He also knew that he couldn't rely on his healing ability and that he, like everyone else, only had a preciously short amount of time to get help before his total blood volume dipped below a critical level and the damages couldn't be reversed. As he lay there, fighting with everything he had to remain conscious, he was eternally grateful to Sylar for being so anal in his attention to detail in his backup plan- and for having the fortitude to come back for him even when he said he wouldn't. He promised himself that if he survived the ordeal, he would personally thank his nemesis even though he knew it would be awkward and uncomfortable for him. He would also try his best not to say, 'I told you so' when it came to the fact that Sylar broke his own rule in order to save him- even though he really did tell him so. It would be entertaining to see how he would justify it so as not to have to admit that he did it out of a sense of duty.

"I need more blood." Emma sighed exasperated. "I can't save him without it. Is anyone here type O?"

"I am!" Mohinder readily volunteered as he took a step forward. His hands were already coated in Peter's blood from trying to put pressure on his wound until Emma could get to him, so he figured he might as well return the favor.

"Are you certain?" She asked gravely. If he was mistaken, it would cause a catastrophic reaction that would kill her patient quickly.

"I am most certain." He confirmed as he eagerly rolled up his sleeve. "I had to previously do some type matching while working on the Shanti vaccine." He glanced at Sylar and gave him a dour look. "It's how I know that Claire's type is B. As it turned out, it didn't really matter for those that have the ability to regenerate, the effects of an apparent mismatch were negligent." Sylar regarded him with a stony expression- absolutely unrepentant for stealing the last dose of the drug that restored his abilities. He would do it again without hesitation even if he had to shove his own grandmother under a bus to get to it…if he knew who she was and if another dose was indeed available….

"Ok," Emma nodded while she rigged up a makeshift transfusion line, "pull up a chair, but you won't have enough to give safely. Is anyone else type O?" Blank expressions spread through the room as people either didn't know their type or didn't fit the description. "Does anyone happen to know Peter's?" She asked hopefully. More puzzled looks gave her all the information she needed and she turned her attention to inserting the needle into Mohinder's arm carefully so as not to bruise him. "Alright, you will have to do for now. Something is better than nothing."

Mohinder flexed and clenched his hand repeatedly to encourage his blood to flow into Peter's body faster and he knew that Emma was right: he couldn't give more than a pint at a time, but he wondered if it would even make a difference given how much Peter had lost. It seemed like a drop in the proverbial bucket. For just a moment, Peter's eyes flickered open and locked on him as though he were cognizant of what was transpiring. Mohinder smiled warmly at him when he seemed to recognize gratitude in them- it was just like Peter to think of others even when he was in mortal peril and it was the very reason Mohinder was determined to do all he could to help him even if it did seem futile.

West wished he knew his blood type because he too wanted to help, but not because he knew Peter very well or knew how important he was to the cause: he had his own reasons and they were not entirely of the altruistic kind. If he could help the man laying on the table- a person he knew to be dear to Claire- then maybe he too could be a hero. Since the war began, he had been on the run and suffered many indignities and discomforts with only one goal in mind: to find Claire. After his capture he still vowed to remain strong, but after seeing her with Damian he began to wonder if Luke wasn't right all along. As he stood in the shadows of the lab watching her huddle and whisper closely with Sylar and Damian, he felt his resentment for them all growing. At a time when he should have been enjoying his reward of being in her presence, she was showering all of her attention on her new friend and paradoxically, the very man that she swore she would kill if she could. As she bent over him- close enough to kiss him if she wanted and he allowed it, it didn't look much like hatred to him. He didn't know what she said to Sylar, but whatever it was, it put a small smile on his face and that was distressing.

He watched Sylar get up slowly and stand up straight to tower over her and he hated him. The way he said 'you're welcome' when he escaped his cell implied that he was the one that opened the door, but even if that were true he didn't feel any particular gratitude toward the killer. He watched the way that Sylar used people to his own ends and then threw them away without a second thought- the way he did Claire and the same as he did to Luke. He didn't know why Sylar would have bothered releasing him, but it all became clear when he swayed just a bit on his feet and it was Claire that reached out to place her hand on his arm. It was Claire. As West thought back to the hallway, Sylar was going to leave Peter behind and only went back because she asked him to. He didn't do it because of a sense of duty or valor- he did it because his girlfriend begged him. She had some kind of influence with him and only one possibility seemed plausible: his girlfriend was having some kind of secret relationship with the man she said she despised. West felt the rage and despair bubble up inside of him at the thought that after all he'd endured to find her again, she would cheat on him with Sylar of all people. Luke was right and he bit his lip in frustration. He wanted to kill Sylar more than ever before, but he knew he couldn't- for the moment. If he ever found himself in a position as he did back on Jessup's farm though, things would be very different.

Sylar felt momentarily light headed, but he quickly regained his faculties and was a bit surprised that Claire- perhaps simply out of instinct or reflex- had tried to steady him. She too seemed stunned by her overt act of charity, and her hand quickly dropped away under his mildly incredulous stare. "Don't hurt him." She warned with a stern expression.

Damian looked from one to the other nervously. Although he witnessed Sylar's capacity to be a team player, he wasn't entirely convinced that he was on the up and up. He had simply read too many condemning secret intelligence reports and viewed too many photographs of the utter destruction the one man before him could rain down all on his own to blindly trust him. He cleared his throat, but he could still only manage a hoarse whisper. "What…um…what exactly are you going to do?" He asked timidly. Of course it was his body they were talking about, but he still felt as though he were crossing the line in questioning Sylar about his intentions.

The way that Sylar glanced into middle space, seemingly at no one in particular made it difficult to determine who he was speaking to. "You know that it isn't as easy for me. It doesn't work the same. I can't…._see_…the way an ability works the way I can when I…" His dark eyes flicked across Damian's forehead in a metaphorical line.

"It might be harder, but you can do it." Claire encouraged him. "You did it at least once before." It probably wasn't the best idea to bring up Elle, but he did learn how to use her ability quite well.

Damian shifted slightly as the tension among them was ratcheted up by a factor of a thousand. Whatever she was referencing, it was of devastating magnitude because he noticed the immediate change in Sylar's demeanor and the way he almost visibly winced as though he were in pain. He wasn't so sure he wanted to be a part of the scheme anymore. "I'm sorry," he apologized softly, "I'm still a little unclear about what the 'it' is…exactly."

"I'm just telling you not to expect a miracle." He warned in a low voice before lifting his hand toward Damian and demanding, "Give me your glasses."

"Why?" He asked confused. The plain look of irritation on Sylar's face clearly told him that he shouldn't ask questions, so he slid them off his face and gently placed them in the palm of his outstretched hand without further inquiry. Both Maria and Claire stared at him curiously, struck by how much he resembled Sylar without them. He could have been a distant relative and it wasn't lost on Sylar either. Damian shrank under the scrutiny, unsure as to why everyone was suddenly so interested and feeling very naked without his shirt or glasses.

Sylar's eyes grew distant as he ran his fingers along the sleek, black frames and turned them slowly in his hands until his mouth twitched upward into a smirk. "You don't even need these," he noted in a slightly amused tone, "you only wear them to hide. It's easier for you to deal with others if they think you're smart, but entirely forgettable."

Damian's head snapped up. "What are you, a fortune teller?" He was a little defensive, but only because it was absolutely true.

Sylar didn't seem to take offense, but he didn't take the hint to stop either. "You bought these not because you particularly liked them, but the pretty blonde clerk thought they suited you." He gave a light chuckle, almost as if he had been there himself. "You wanted to ask for her number, but you couldn't find the courage. Besides, surely she wouldn't want to date someone who smelled like asphalt tar and formaldehyde." He shrugged handing them back to the embarrassed young man, "Too bad, she would have said yes."

"And you know this…?" Damian asked, snatching his glasses back from the man who had just blurted out his pathetic social history. He might not have been so embarrassed if Claire wasn't standing there, trying not to feel sorry for him.

"Because I can." He said simply as he reached out and placed his warm hand on his arm. A cool, tingling sensation flowed from the confused young man as he concentrated in an effort to remember exactly how he felt at the moment. It was crucial in reactivating the ability once it was assimilated into his own DNA, and although it was an almost entirely foreign way to call up a power, it was the way Peter operated on a daily basis and it was the way empathy worked. To Sylar, it was an arcane, inefficient mode of transmission, but it was a viable alternative to murder. Once the ability was fully replicated, Sylar looked around and his eyes widened at the sight of people surrounded by shimmering auras. People really did sparkle.

"Do you see it too?" Damian asked hopefully. He didn't know what Sylar had done, but it was clear that something had changed and that he now had access to his ability. If he could see people sparkle as well, the likelihood of both of them being crazy was almost nil.

"You can see a person's life force." He stated slowly, as though he were still trying to put it all together in his mind. He looked down at his own hands and noted that his aura was not as well defined as Claire's or even Maria's. Peter's was almost imperceptible, but it was there- faint and sluggish.

Claire stood straight with her head up. "Try to take mine." She offered.

It was strange for her to willingly invite him to take something so personal from her, but even so, Sylar understood the logic of it. He stretched out his hand and tried to pull the shimmering field toward him with his telekinesis, but only ended up pulling Claire herself into his arms. She pushed him away with a disgusted expression and he let her go with a half apologetic downward glance. "I told you it wasn't as easy." He explained.

"Whatever." She didn't necessarily believe him, but he did seem sheepish enough that it could have been an accident. "Try again."

He again tried to pull it from her, but stopped when she shuffled forward a few steps the same as she did before. It was clear that there was some other mechanism at work and he just had to find it. He let his mind chew on the problem for a moment before turning to Damian and asking, "What was happening when you took her…energy for lack of a better term?"

"What do you mean?" Damian asked puzzled.

"Sights, smells, sounds, anything you can remember. Something triggered your ability."

Damian shook his head as he struggled to remember the exact moment. "It was cold, and the room was very bright and smelled like antiseptic- like a hospital."

"Abilities are usually associated with some event. Were you scared, excited?" He pressed.

"Yeah, a little." He quietly admitted.

"A little?" Sylar asked raising his eyebrow and glancing at Damian's wound. "I know what goes on in those buildings and for someone like you it should have been terrifying."

"Ok! It was!" He sighed throwing his hands up. He didn't want to tell everyone in the room that he was tortured to the point that he wanted to die. "I had no idea what was happening to me and it was clear that either I told them what they wanted to hear or they were going to kill me. I never thought I would see my family again. Yes, I was scared!"

Sylar gave a small nod, but it wasn't at all mocking or condescending. It was as though he fully understood his plight on more than just an intellectual level and suddenly Damian saw him as something more than the cold assassin he was believed to be. There was something else reflected in his deep eyes- something more human than he ever expected. "So you were afraid." He echoed quietly as he turned back to Claire. He stared vacantly at the former cheerleader, allowing his mind to open the floodgates of his own nightmarish experiences on Level 5 in an effort to feel fear, to experience it in its full breathtaking horror and project it onto her like a blank screen.

Claire watched his eyes fill with misery and trepidation and it was a sight she never thought she would see: Sylar as a vulnerable and frightened man. He blinked slowly and breathed quickly as he mentally relived some unknown trauma and slowly but surely, she felt the very essence of her being begin to tear away like Velcro from her body. It was the strangest sensation to feel the very life force drain from her, leaving her increasingly weak and disoriented until everything finally went black and she collapsed on the floor.

As strange as it was for Claire, it was exhilarating for Sylar. He didn't have perfect control over the degree with which he gathered her energy, but what was truly remarkable was the way he felt. He could sense a definite change in his body at the microscopic level. He felt stronger, more powerful and less like an ordinary human. His IA quickly unraveled the puzzle: Claire's energy boosted his system enough to fully restore his abilities via rapid regeneration. It was like a shot of ability steroids that allowed his DNA to repair the damage of S2. It was completely unexpected, but entirely welcomed. He pondered the vigorous, healthy glow surrounding his hands as Claire was helped to her feet by Maria.

"I think you got it." Claire sighed wearily. "I knew you could do it." She was taken with the slack-jawed expression of Damian and she nervously glanced at Sylar to see a very familiar, menacing smirk on his face. "Uh oh."

"It appears you were right, Claire." His dark, silky voice rumbled. "A person's energy can be used to heal others."

The thought of the old, devious Sylar being back put her on edge. "So use it to heal Peter." She urged. "We had a deal."

"We did, but just short of forever are less than favorable terms." He shrugged. "Surely you can do better."

"I can't believe you." She hissed with narrowed eyes. "You had no intention of helping him, did you?"

He sighed patiently. "I said I would, and I will. I'm just asking for more consideration. Come on, Claire, even you have to admit that this is highly unusual for me."

"What do you want from me?" She cried desperately. "A medal? Some kind of public ticker tape parade because you finally did something good?"

"What I want," he ground out, "is for you to stop pretending that you are all saccharine sweetness and that I am at your disposal. Consider your boyfriend's freedom a gift, because you certainly didn't earn it. Never say I didn't do anything for you."

"After what you did to me?" She laughed. "You broke me, Sylar. I can't feel anything because of you. You violated me!"

"Unfortunate, but necessary." He conceded in a low tone. "But at least I didn't kill you."

Damian wanted nothing more than to quietly slip off his perch on the counter and melt into some dark shadow in a corner. He suspected that there was something between the two of them and it was starting to sound all the more like a domestic situation gone horribly wrong. All he knew was that he didn't want to know any more or get involved in any way least Sylar 'break' him too.

What was more shocking was that Maria didn't seem to be equally horrified. "While this is certainly a worthwhile conversation," she cautiously interjected, "Peter is in dire condition and if this ability can in any way help, it might be expedient to do so."

Sylar reluctantly agreed. He said he would help and he was a man of his word. Now he just had to figure out how to push energy from himself into Peter. As a fellow regen, it should have the same effect as it did on him, although he didn't completely understand the limitations of Damian's ability. Was it like a battery that had a maximum charge? Did he need just a little to get the ball rolling? More importantly in his mind, was it going to sap his own vitality? He said he was going to help Peter, not wreck himself doing it. He took a few strides toward the table where Mohinder remained tethered to the dying man by a thin red line and looked him over carefully. He knew he didn't have much time to act and that would have been bad enough, but as he warned Claire, gaining abilities through empathy made the process of understanding infinitely more difficult. If he could have taken Damian's power the usual way, he would have mastered it almost immediately, but all the feely stuff was like trying to drive a manual transmission rather than an automatic and there were bound to be a few stalls along the learning curve. He pondered the way energy transference might work. He knew for a fact that it couldn't be done via telekinesis- he would only succeed in pushing Peter off the table. He also doubted that conjuring up fear would solve anything either, because if anything it would rob him of what precious little energy he held onto. The only logical antidote to fear was a sense of warm compassion and Sylar was peering over the edge of a very deep chasm if that were the case.

Sylar was not a man who was entirely devoid of emotion. He felt things probably as keenly as anyone, but throughout his life he had learned to largely ignore them because they were not reliable or reciprocated. But if his life circumstances made it difficult for him, his IA made it next to impossible. Peter was right: it twisted him into something else entirely- someone who was only interested in his own successful survival even if it came at a great cost to others. He tried to make himself care about Peter on a personal level or even a humanitarian one, but his relentless internal logic told him it was against his self-interest to do so, or at the very least not to his profit. As a result, Peter's aura stubbornly remained as it was.

Maria quietly joined him at his side when she noticed the ever so slight slump of his shoulders. She knew he was trying and struggling. She lightly placed her hand on his back and softly encouraged him. "You can do this, Gabriel. I believe in you."

Something inside of him stirred as if calling him by his name summoned the watchmaker in him. It wasn't a sense of duty or gratitude, but more of an alliance and his eyes drifted down until they stopped on the very item he required. "Give me your watch." She slowly removed it, realizing what he needed it for. She now knew that he could read memories from it, and it held new ones since the last time he repaired it- ones that she didn't know how he would react to. He held Bryant's gift to her in his hand, immersing himself in the sense of love and mutual respect it contained…until more recent traces of memories emerged. They were just as powerful, but of a different sort: clean, pure love and compassion mixed with sadness. They were the feelings she had for him when the watch was returned. He glanced at her in surprise and she looked away, somewhat embarrassed to feel so strongly about him, but in all truth she had always known that although she tried to treat all of her slaves equally, both he and Peter were just a little more equal than the rest.

Feeling that the situation was best not commented upon and still holding his proxy to compassion, he turned back to Peter and tried to imagine he was Maria- a person capable of wanting only the best for him- while he willed the energy from his own body to his target's. Damian watched in amazement as a slow but steady shimmering bridge formed between the two and Peter's glow grew stronger while Sylar's remained unchanged. He never wanted to be special or have the ability that he did, but if he could learn to do what Sylar was doing to help others, it gave him hope that he could be something more than an accidental murderer.

Peter's eyes fluttered open and he began to move languidly, to everyone's surprise. They couldn't see what Damian could- to them it seemed like a miracle. "Yatta!" Hiro yelled pumping his fists enthusiastically in the air while Ando looked on smiling.

"Peter?" Emma asked in utter disbelief. She had never seen anyone come back so quickly from the brink of death. He had a long way to go, but at the rate he was going he would recover in no time at all.

"Hey." He shyly smiled. He felt so tired and weak, but it was as though he could feel strength pouring into his body like a stream from somewhere to his right…in the vicinity of Maria and Sylar. He noticed Mohinder by his side, still attached by the transfusion line. "Wow, Mohinder," he grinned, "you have some miracle blood or something."

"I wish I did," He shook his head in amazement, "but I can't say that's the case."

"Thanks anyway, man."

Mohinder smiled broadly at the man who it seemed he ran all over the New York subway system with looking for a man who could paint the future. "It was my pleasure, Peter. I was glad to do it."

He was feeling well enough to remove his own needle and sit up, against the advice of Emma who still couldn't believe her own eyes. She inspected the bullet wound in his thigh, only to find not even a trace that anything was ever wrong. In a matter of minutes, he had gone from death's doorstep to perfectly healthy and she was speechless. He allowed her to examine him until she was satisfied, but just over her shoulder he spotted the intense look of concentration on Sylar's face and he felt the flow of energy stop.

He didn't know how or why he did it, but Sylar came back for him and saved his life and for that he was grateful. He gave his nemesis a slight nod of gratitude and Sylar returned the gesture.


	16. Battle Plans

**A/N: A lot of free time this week…huzza! If you haven't already, check out "Margin Call"- another awesome performance by ZQ. He's tall, dark, handsome, _and_a rocket scientist? Be still my heart! Now if only he paraded around shirtless carrying a box of chocolates for the entire film, he would get an Oscar..lol. **

**Chapter 16- Battle Plans**

"_A leader is best when people barely know he exists, when his work is done, his aim fulfilled, they will say: we did it ourselves."_

_-Lao Tzu_

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Nathan fiddled with his pen until his fingers were numb, but he couldn't make himself stop. He was normally cool under pressure, but it was almost midday and he hadn't heard anything about any recent activity on behalf of the rebellion. Either Sylar didn't have a plan, they hadn't acted on it, or they did and failed. None of the possibilities seemed palatable, but surely he would have heard something by now either way. He specifically asked to be left out of the loop as far as details went to maintain his precious plausible deniability, but he couldn't imagine what the hold-up was. The longer they waited, the less likely it was that they could be successful in rescuing Claire and Damian.

He hated to say it, but the office buzzed along as though no one even noticed the quiet intern was gone. Only one person inquired as to his whereabouts and that was a staffer in the cafeteria who was accustomed to seeing him pick up the trays of sandwiches for meetings on a regular basis. Nathan had a lot of meetings every week, so Damian made several runs to the cafeteria every day. They probably saw more of him than Nathan himself did in his own office. It was only after he was gone did he realize exactly how much his underpaid and overworked intern was responsible for. Little things started to go undone as well as a few larger items such as reports not being delivered and summarized and bills or amendments not properly screened. It was starting to make him look bad.

"Here are the latest budget projections on McCaskey's amendment." Kelly announced, barging into his office with her arms full of papers and binders while her disheveled blonde hair fell into her eyes. "The vote is in two days. He said he expects your support."

Nathan glanced at the pile of papers she dropped on his desk with a wry smile. "I'll bet he does."

"I also have the Cooper bill for you to sign…"

"Which was?" He prompted. His colleagues had their fingers in so many pies he couldn't remember who was responsible for what. He didn't even remember voting for it.

"An extension on tax breaks for coal mines, Sir." She reminded.

Nathan looked skeptical. "I voted for that?"

"You did, in exchange for her vote to regulate safety oversight of said mines." She smiled deviously. "The final copy is due on the floor by 4:00." He hastily scribbled his name at the bottom of the page and handed it back without so much as a glance. "I'll get that back ASAP." She sighed wearily. "Where the hell has Damian been? It's unfair for him to dump all his work on me. Is he dying or something?" She whined as she tucked her wayward hair back into her bun.

"Something like that." Nathan mumbled miserably while he twirled his pen. "So, no news from the front today?"

"Sir?" She asked confused.

"The rebellion." He stated flatly. To be fair, intel reports had always been Damian's responsibility and he was convinced that his intern knew more about the entire operation than he did. But, that was probably true of a lot of things that were printed on paper.

"Oh, yes!" She smiled, fumbling through the stack of papers. "I totally forgot. Sylar was turned in to a facility in Virginia, but he escaped….again." She found the badly wrinkled report and thrust it at her boss. "He's only one guy. Why is it so hard to just kill him?"

"Because he doesn't want to be killed?" Nathan guessed as he perused the report. The report was worrisome in its lack of detail, which may or may not be a bad thing. Apparently Sylar had been captured and remanded for detention and during the ensuing chaos, 3 other unnamed, low level prisoners were freed and one of his captors was shot before he was kidnapped. In the end, Sylar, the 3 prisoners and his two remanding agents became 'unlocated.' Nathan loved that word. It meant the guards had no idea where they went or even where to start looking for them. What was odd was that Sylar was never in the habit of kidnapping anyone or taking prisoners- except the ones he meant to free- so Nathan didn't know who his guards were, but he hoped it wouldn't stir up a hornet's nest if the agents were particularly motivated to find their fallen comrade. "He's not exactly like the others, you know. If it were that easy, we would have buried him a long time ago."

"Do we bury them?" She asked curiously. "The people who just…you know…disappear?"

Nathan glanced up from his report, clearly disturbed. "I don't know what they do with them. I never asked." As odd as Damian was, he never barged into his office asking about body disposal.

"We shouldn't." She continued with a surprising amount of vitriol in her voice. "Any person with abilities should be shot on sight as a traitor to this country and a danger to our way of life. They are slaves even if they won't accept it and to give them a proper burial would be giving them dignity- dignity they don't deserve."

Nathan's expression was neutral, or at least as closely as he could manage. Would her opinion of specials change if she knew that she was surrounded by them- many living their lives as quietly as possible? Would she want him shot as a traitor? Damian? Would she be willing to put a gun to his head and pull the trigger in the name of her convictions? For the ideal of making her world a safer place? Instead of asking her these questions, he flashed a disingenuous smile to make her believe that he tacitly agreed and let it slowly fade into a frown after she closed the door.

It was easy to see why Sylar had lost all faith in humanity if the blind hatred and unfair hysteria he just witnessed was becoming the norm. What was more disturbing was that it was he that was largely responsible for the ever increasing thirst for blood by all of his PSA's and wanted posters- most of which bore Sylar's image. He began to wonder if he put his ultimate weapon in danger by overexposing him as the poster child for all that was wrong with the world. Through his PR department, Sylar's face had become synonymous with death and destruction- a modern tangible target for the fears of ordinary humans facing eradication by a new species. Of course it was propaganda at its finest and maybe he did go a bit too far in aiming all of the focus on the former watchmaker, but he was such a convenient scapegoat due to his immense power and inherent darkness that the media willingly played up.

Just about anything could be spun into the truth and every lie that they told the public about how much danger they were in was another opportunity to distract them from the real threat: that evolved humans were going to win the war eventually. It was a dirty little secret that even his colleagues on the Hill discussed in hushed whispers between votes. The rhetoric had changed from a united effort to suppress and disarm specials to how to negotiate with them when they finally gained the upper hand. In a supreme act of hypocrisy only possible in the nation's annals of power, the thrust of the collective effort fell to the Chimera project- proposed and backed by none other than Senator McCaskey himself. It was just a testament to the duplicitous nature of politics that no one thought it odd that the same man now wanted to beg for mercy from the very people he was trying to destroy. It was just business as usual, but of course the public would never know of this project until they could be sufficiently swayed or placated and in this case it would likely require Sylar's death to quiet the perceived storm that lie on the horizon. Once the boogeyman was slain and his body paraded through the streets, the public could forget him and move on with the new normal.

It was a brilliant plan; he just didn't know how to tell Sylar what was going to be required of him.

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Maria couldn't stop smiling in wonder at Peter, and he laughed good naturedly at her uncharacteristic slip. "I'm fine," he assured her, "really. I swear."

"I'm sorry," she apologized when she realized how uncomfortable she must have been making him, "I just…"

"I know." He nodded, sensing the residual fear and sadness emanating from her. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that, but I knew what I was getting into." He looked up at her warily and softly added, "You know that it might not be the last time, either."

She sighed, well aware that outside of the protective walls of her home the war still raged on. "I suppose it would be futile to ask you to stay here where you are safe?" He gave her a small, patronizing smile and she shrugged. "I had to ask."

"Maria, I know that you do everything you can to help us, but I am a little worried that you might be putting yourself at risk." He said quietly. "The war is only getting more intense and it's only a matter of time before people show up at the door asking questions."

"They have before and we dealt with it." She countered.

He shook his head exasperated that he couldn't convince her of what he knew deep down to be true. "It isn't the same. These aren't the same people, Maria. They aren't accountable to anyone." He looked pleadingly into her eyes. "If you saw what we all just did- the facilities, the way they treat traitors, you would know that once they're onto you no one can help you. Not Noah, not even Nathan. All it takes is one person to report you and it's all over."

"I appreciate your concern, Peter, but I can't turn my back on you." She made a sweeping gesture to include everyone in the room seeking her protection and what small comfort or aid she could provide. "Or any of them. I know I'm not special, I don't have any powers to use if agents come to my door, but I can't kick you all out into the cold just to save my own hide."

"But you should." Sylar agreed as he slowly approached the pair from a short distance away where he was shamelessly eavesdropping. His dark eyes rested gently on hers while he calmly presented his argument. "You are only as useful to us as you are alive. Peter's right when he says that once they release the hounds, you will never be heard from again. You can best help us by only rendering aid in emergencies, and even then it should be without your direct involvement. Our success or failure as a whole depends on your continued perception of innocence. The moment your integrity is called into question, it will be over for you and for us."

She knew he was correct, but his logic was of little comfort. "But I can't…"

He patiently smiled. "You aren't abandoning us. We can still make use of your services, but you have to be smart about this."

She seemed more or less resigned. There was no arguing with him. "Where will you go?" She asked quietly.

"That's none of your concern," he replied with a raised eyebrow, "the less you know the better."

She glanced desperately at Peter as though he could overrule him, but she found no ally. He casually shrugged and admitted, "He's right, Maria. I think we've been a little too careless as it is. It's too dangerous to have so many of us here at once." He looked up at Sylar and proposed, "Maybe Hiro should take them to different safe houses for awhile- at least until we're sure everything's ok."

Sylar gave a curt nod of accession. "We also need to contact Rebel. We need a definitive accounting of exactly who's out there and where they all are."

"What do you mean?" Peter asked with a squint. Sure Sylar was a mastermind at planning the last mission, but was he really invested enough to oversee an entire battlefield?

Sylar sighed in irritation. "All this time we have been acting as splinter cells without direction. While it makes locating any one person difficult, it also results in disorganization. If we are ever going to win this war, we have to know exactly who's out there fighting and what they can do. Then we can coordinate a unified plan and execute a single strategy. No more hit and miss."

Peter's eyes glimmered with amusement. "Are you volunteering to lead the charge?"

Sylar's voice was low, but solidly determined. "No one else has. It's time we stopped fighting and started decisively winning."

Peter nodded his head in appreciation. "If you have a plan, I'm all in." People could say what they wanted about Sylar, but if anyone out there was capable of looking at the big picture and then seeing to every minute detail to ensure the exact outcome he wanted, it was the watchmaker. Nothing he ever did was half baked or only partially conceived, so Peter had absolute confidence in the newly minted, if reluctant, leader of the rebellion.

"Excuse me," Damian timidly cleared his throat, "I didn't mean to listen in, and I don't know how much information you already have, but I might be able to help." It wasn't his usual style to be so direct, but he saw a glimpse of his future in the facility and he knew there was no going back. He couldn't just go back to work in Senator Petrelli's office as though nothing happened. For better or worse, he was a special and he thought it best to align himself with others like him if he were ever going to make sense of his power or have any kind of future among them.

Sylar gestured for him to hold his thought while he turned to Maria. "I think this is a good time for you to leave." He suggested. "The less you know the better and that starts now." The expression on his face was deadly serious, but she also got the distinct impression that he wasn't trying to be mean: he was trying to protect her as best he could by limiting the information she had knowledge of. After she departed, Sylar indicated that he was listening by slightly lifting one of his perfectly manicured eyebrows. No matter the rest of his appearance, it was the one thing he couldn't allow himself to fall behind in.

Taking his cue, Damian nervously continued. "Well, I had access to intel reports when I worked at Senator Petrelli's office."

"And you read them?" Peter asked a little bemused. In his mind, the words 'intel' and 'top secret' were almost synonymous.

"Yeah," Damian shrugged, "it was my job. I had a security clearance if that's what you're wondering. I don't think many other interns did, though." He paused to ponder that fact and the more he thought about it, he couldn't think of one other staffer that did. Either his boss trusted him implicitly or he was just that lazy so he wouldn't have to read his own reports. "Anyway, I can show you on a map where all the facilities are, what the staffing levels are like, proposed projects, and recent problems they've had."

"What kinds of problems?" Sylar asked intrigued. His IA was clicking overtime, cataloguing every fact he could for future use. Sometimes even the most obscure point could be of great importance at just the right moment.

"For example, the facility in eastern Kentucky was built by a river that was washed out this fall by flooding. The roads are nearly inaccessible and now that its winter, new ones won't be built until late spring at the earliest. The facility in North Dakota has suffered from staffing issues since it opened. They only have a third of the guards they need to run the place." Sylar turned slightly to Peter and smirked in appreciation. "But it gets better," Damian promised excitedly, "everything the government does is centralized. Social Security checks are printed in one location and delivered to mailboxes all over the nation. Monetary policy is set in DC and adopted by all other banks in every town. It's the same thing here: all facility functions are managed from the North Dakota facility."

"Wait," Peter asked blinking in absolute disbelief, "what?" It seemed absolutely asinine to put all eggs in one basket- especially when Sylar was there to stomp on them with his big, black boots.

"Yeah!" Damian laughed. "Only a few people know about it, but all records, personnel files, even environmental controls for each facility is run from one building- the very one with staffing problems."

Sylar chuckled despite himself. "It would make sense that if they build every facility exactly the same down to the number of bricks and millimeters of piping that they would streamline control systems. It would be easier to manage attacks remotely."

"Unless the facility doing the monitoring is attacked." Peter mused.

"They aren't idiots." Damian reminded. "They have protocol in place for that. Should the North Dakota facility fail, operations would be relocated to Virginia." He gave a small congratulatory nod in Sylar's direction. "It was Manhattan until you destroyed it."

"And they nearly destroyed me." He mumbled darkly. "Who's after Virginia?"

Damian pursed his lips while he tried to recall the list. "Odessa and Sacramento."

"Texas?" Peter sighed despondently. "Nothing good ever happened to me in Texas. I'll be happy if I never set foot in the state again."

"It's where you met me." Sylar recalled with a devious grin.

"As I said…" He laughed.

His nemesis gave a light shrug. "The coffee in that diner wasn't too bad. God knows I drank enough of it sitting there all day. I didn't sleep for days after that." He paused and cocked his head, "Or it was because I was being held captive at a supposed paper company after you almost killed me by throwing me off that wall?"

Peter was incredulous. "_I_ almost killed _you_? You chased me and threw me off the edge!"

"But you grabbed me, taking me with you." He patiently reminded. "Ergo, you tried to kill me. Despite that, I still saved your life."

"What?" Peter howled. "How does that even make sense to you?"

"I used my telekinesis to slow your fall so you wouldn't die on the concrete below. And after my generosity, you had the audacity to steal it from me." He complained.

Peter was laughing so hard he had to catch his breath. "Wait, no no no…" he gasped, "you used your ability to save your own ass and I didn't steal anything from you, I accidently copied it. That's not the same thing at all."

Sylar was relentlessly insistent. "Did you or did you not pull me over the edge with you, acquiring my ability without my consent?"

"Well yeah, but…"

Sylar smirked with a slight shrug. "I rest my case."

Damian was impressed with what even he knew to be twisted and entirely unsound logic despite the fact he had no idea what they were talking about. "You should work in Washington. You would make an awesome politician."

"I have no desire to." Sylar groused. "My head would constantly ache from all the lies I detected."

Peter agreed. If his own bother's morals were of questionable value, he couldn't imagine living and working in a city of piranhas. "And god knows how many literal skeletons are in your closet." Sylar shot him an irritated look. "But hey, the country loves war heroes. They might overlook it once this is all over." He offered in a conciliatory tone.

"Anyway," Damian hummed, sensing the rising tension between the two, "if you are thinking of a swift and decisive strategy, I would suggest a concerted strike on all the lead facilities to knock out the entire system." Both Peter and Sylar turned to him and he shyly added, "But it's just a suggestion….one of many, probably." He didn't mean to seem so forthright- especially since Sylar was the boss.

"It might work." Sylar cautiously conceded. "But I would want to attack every facility. Leave nothing standing."

"You could, if you had enough people." He shrugged. "But your priority and best people should be placed on the top four locations. Take them down quickly so they don't have time to mobilize the smaller sites just in case any of the other missions fail."

"One swift death blow." Sylar mused as his mind started weaving together all of the loose threads of putting such a grand scheme into action.


	17. Rendering Aid

**Chapter 17- Rendering Aid**

"_The race of mankind would perish did they cease to aid each other. We cannot exist without mutual help. All therefore that need aid have a right to ask it from their fellow men; and no one who has the power of granting can refuse it without guilt."_

_-Walter Scott_

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Luke stared at the bullet riddled steel door that led to the stairwell on Level 2 and the empty cells that lined the hallway. He numbly stepped aside to allow a janitor to pass as he swept up the hundreds of unspent ammunition shells that covered the floor, determined not to let even one of them touch his foot least some residual S2 get smeared on his shoe and somehow accidently disable his abilities. He knew Sylar was an incredibly powerful man, but even he couldn't have possibly held off the sheer magnitude of projectiles all on his own. The simple mass of the bullets wouldn't have been much of a challenge for him, but stopping each one's velocity would have required a staggering amount of force and concentration and Luke just couldn't conceive of having such control over an ability to that degree. In some ways, it renewed his fascination with his former idol. He truly was a badass even if he was something of a jerk.

Agent Carter was equally amazed, although she was trying to be a bit more professional about it. "How is it even possible?" She wondered aloud. "So many shots fired and not _one_ got to him?"

"It got somebody." Luke stated, pointing to the pool of blood that receded in drag marks toward the damaged door.

Carter looked at the dark smears with disgust. "It was supposedly a field agent. Mills, I think his name was." She scraped at the stain with the toe of her shoe mindlessly. "Sylar took him hostage. But what doesn't make sense is why the agents brought him here. This is far too minimum security for someone like him."

"Maybe they took a wrong turn?" Luke guessed with a shrug. "How the hell should I know? I don't even know those people."

"Or maybe you do." She suggested.

"No," he refuted emphatically, "I don't. I don't know anyone named Mills."

She sighed lightly. "Still, we would like for you to view the surveillance video and tell us if anyone looks familiar." Her tone was more than just a little accusatory.

Luke knew there was no getting out it, so he warily followed her to a conference room on the first floor- all the while thinking of plausible lies for the things he might be asked to explain. It was all becoming clear to him that the noose was getting tighter and he had unwittingly given them more information than he intended to. He was now a suspect even though they still tried to maintain the illusion of open acceptance. As he sat in the dimly lit room watching the chaos replay on the screen, he was struck with the way Sylar came back to drag Peter away and the look of grim determination on his face that the camera captured. Something had changed since the last time he saw him at Jessup's farm. Yes, he was equally determined then, but his focus was entirely on satiating his own thirst for revenge to the exclusion of everyone and everything else. This time, his only concern seemed to be getting the injured man and himself to safety and although during their time on the road together Luke did see a more magnanimous side to him, it was not to the extent he had just witnessed on tape. Sylar did rescue him from agents at the diner, but the stakes were not nearly as high then: it was a confined space with only a few individuals and there was no S2 that at any second could kill him.

"See anyone you know?" She asked patiently.

Luke swiveled in his office chair at the table, debating what he should say. To his advantage, the video was lacking sound, so all he had to go on were actions. "Obviously, it was Sylar." He confirmed in a bored tone. "I told you he would come. You asked me if there was anything between him and Claire. Watching the video, I think you have your answer."

"I know it was him." She ground out. "That wasn't the question. Who were the others?"

"I don't know." He shrugged, locking eyes with her. He didn't flinch in the slightest. He knew what was at stake. If he gave up Peter, it would lead to others like Claire and possibly Sylar himself. If that happened, the war would be lost and he didn't want the last hope for freedom to die with him.

She seemed to study him for a long time before coolly asking, "Are you sure you don't know the agents in the video?"

"Should I?"

She removed a vial from her pocket containing what looked like congealed blood and set it on the table in front of him. "You might. 'Agent Mills' is either a member of the rebellion or he's hiding the fact that he's a special. Either way, he's got a lot of explaining to do."

"Then maybe you should ask him instead of wasting your time with me." He advised. "But let me guess, Sylar took him and you don't know where to look."

"Any ideas?" She knew that whatever his answer, it was likely going to be a lie, but she had to entertain him.

"I told you I knew a little about Sylar, not where he hangs out. You haven't found him because he doesn't exactly advertise where he is. He's not stupid." He laughed.

"What are his personal habits?" She queried. "His interests, hobbies, acquaintances?"

Luke shook his head in amusement. "Sitting on the toilet, eating tacos and reading Playboy. Hell, I don't know! What do you want me to say? I didn't live with him or anything." When he noted that she wasn't amused and he was pushing his luck, he relented. "Ok, seriously. This is all I know about him: his dad was a special like him, but he probably killed him by now. He likes peach pie, and he's a terrible driver. He has a habit of speeding. So, your best bet is a diner in the middle of BFE where he's unlikely to get a ticket with the last piece of peach pie in the region on special."

"Luke," Carter smiled viciously, "may I remind you that participation in the program is voluntary and is only dependent on your continued cooperation. I have been honest with you thus far. The respectable thing for you to do is to return the favor and not waste my time or the resources of this project. I realize that it may be difficult for you to essentially turn Sylar in because you may fear retribution should he escape, but we can protect you."

"No you can't!" Luke laughed hysterically. "If Sylar wanted me dead, not you, God, or anyone could stop him. He would walk right through that gate out there, straight down the hall and in this room to cut my head open and not one damn person would have anything to say about it. You watched that video! Even your precious S2 is useless if you can't even touch him! The dude's like Teflon- nothing sticks to him and if you think you're any match for him with your Lite Brite ability, you're delusional. He can't be contained."

"Yet he has been." She countered. "You said yourself he was a slave. Ever wonder how that happened?" She asked with a malicious grin, "I put him there. I turned him in and he was drugged while he slept and hauled away in chains. He didn't have the luxury of having his chip put in at an official facility because I knew I could get more money for him if I called the black market guys. He's just like any other man- show him a little attention and he'll follow you home like a lost puppy. He's not as invincible as you think he is."

"I almost feel sorry for you." He admitted. "I mean, you _might_ get over on him _if_ you're lucky, but wanna know how that story ended? Yeah, he was a slave for awhile and yeah, he almost died hanging in a barn, but dude's like a cockroach. Notice a pattern here? _Almost_. You can do whatever you want to him and it might even look like you're winning, but at the end of the day he's faster, smarter, stronger, and a hell of a lot more determined than any other person out there. Wanna know something else about him? He's got a memory like an elephant and the guy's patience is fucking infinite. He might be busy with the war right now, but I can guarantee you that he hasn't forgotten about you. You might think that you got away with selling him out, and it could be years from now, but one day he'll show up at your door and the best you can hope for is that he'll kill you quickly. Because all that time you were living your life, he was dreaming up ways he could make you suffer. Don't believe me?" He asked with a smile. "Go to your computer and check out the Arthur Jessup file. He only had about a day to think that shit up. Imagine what he's got planned for you after he's had 3 months…or longer."

"I'll take my chances." She replied curtly as she gestured for guards to come and take him to a cell.

"Good luck then." He sighed, realizing that the game was up. "Be sure you say your prayers before you go to bed every night 'cause it might be your last."

She watched the agents roughly haul him to his feet and nearly drag him to the door. "As I said, he's just a man and every man heeds the basic calls of nature: food and sex. It worked for you and I'm sure he's hungry for something."

"Oh he is." Luke smiled mysteriously. "He's got a huge appetite."

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The lab was solemnly quiet after Hiro scattered the estate's inhabitants to safe houses all over the country in the blink of an eye after they said their goodbyes to Maria and thanked her for her generosity. Only Maria, Sylar, Peter, and Damian remained and after his wounds were sufficiently healed, they too would depart to unknown locations. The impending desertion weighed heavily on Maria's mind, but she knew it was for the best. Still, the thought of being more or less alone in the huge house without those she had come to see almost as friends made her despondent.

Damian tried his best to keep the water in his blue eyes from coalescing and running down his cheeks in tears, but it was difficult with Peter's vigorous scrubbing of his sore wound with antiseptic. He might have even given in then, but Sylar was nearby watching as well and that helped him keep a stiff upper lip about the whole situation. He got the impression that Peter might have understood his reaction to the intense pain, but Sylar didn't seem to be nearly as sympathetic. It was almost as though he were hovering, waiting for a reason to revoke his man card for crying.

"Sorry about this." Peter smiled gently. "But whoever did this the first time wasn't exactly thorough and now it's infected."

"I don't remember." He confessed, taking a deep breath to quell the pain. "I didn't think they did anything but put a band-aid on it."

"That's about it." He agreed sadly.

"Aren't you worried?" He asked, glancing at his boss's brother. It still seemed unreal that they could be related. "I mean, what if…you know…"

Peter threw away the bloody gauze and opened a fresh package to continue his one man germ warfare. "What?" He prompted with a squint, sensing the mounting anxiety of his patient. He didn't really understand what Damian was getting at, so he quickly scanned his thoughts to cut to the chase. "Your ability?" He guessed before giving him a relaxed grin. "I don't think it matters. Not with me or him anyway." He tossed his head in Sylar's direction and continued cleaning with a little less force. "We can regenerate just like Claire, so worst case scenario we get up again."

"So, can you teach me how to use my power so I don't kill anyone?" He asked looking to Sylar timidly. "You seem to know how to make it do what you want. You said something about fear, but I don't understand. How did you do it?"

Peter cocked his head playfully and echoed, "Yeah, how did you do it?" The idea of Sylar having to use empathy to collect and use an ability made him giddy with pleasure. He knew that it would have been absolutely revolting to him, but he did it anyway which said something about his ultimate character.

Sylar didn't appreciate his insincerity. "You know exactly how." He grumbled. "It should have been you."

"But it wasn't." He gleefully pointed out. "And now he needs answers."

"So replicate it and give him what he wants." Sylar suggested impatiently. "He'd learn more from you." He almost whispered.

Peter wasn't about to let him off that easy. "What was that?" He feigned difficulty hearing. "Did you just admit that I was better at something than you? An ability no less?" If looks could kill, there would be a smoldering black spot where Peter stood. In a less taunting tone he stated, "I could teach him how to direct it, but we all know that you would be better at teaching him control."

"It's not something you teach. Either you get it with practice or you don't."

Peter took one look at Damian's baleful eyes and he nodded disdainfully. "So, what you're saying is that you are refusing to help him even after he asked you to?"

"Do I have to accept every invitation for assistance?" He asked darkly. "I admit that lately I've been unusually involved in the events of others, but I'm not prepared to make it a long-term habit. See what I mean about the never ending list of demands?" He lowered his voice and his eyes grew hard with conviction. "I'm not a hero like you, Peter. I agreed to fight in this war and even agreed to lead the damn thing even though I don't want to. I think that's enough."

"I don't want to be here either." Damian said bravely. "But I am. If you need some kind of reason to help me, think of it this way: if you teach me to use my ability, I can help you with your strategy and we all win."

Sylar scoffed lightly. "I don't need your assistance to think. I can do that very well on my own."

"Your grand plan was my idea, you know." He quietly replied. He knew he was flirting with disaster and on any other given day he would have gladly backed down, but there was too much at stake. Knowing that Sylar already possessed his power emboldened him to further his point without fear of having his head cut off. "I don't want this ability and I don't want to hurt people, but I am willing to use it if I have to. Admit it, I can be very useful to you."

"Everyone is useful in some way." Sylar conceded. "But I don't have the time or desire to hold your hand while you learn to walk so to speak. The same is true in nature. Gazelles run shortly after birth. They either run or they get eaten."

"How poetic." Peter huffed, entirely disgusted with the analogy. "Looks like the big, bad wolf can't take the 15 minutes out of his incredibly busy day to show you the basics. Don't take it personally, though." He glared pointedly at his nemesis. "It's not like anyone _ever_ helped him at any point of his semi-charmed life."

"Peter." Sylar warned with a growl.

Undeterred, he pressed on. "He was hatched from an egg, you know. Not even raised by wolves. He raised himself entirely and never needed anyone else for anything. Just ask him how he survived Kirby Plaza, the Shanti virus…"

"_Peter_."

"…and of course he didn't need Maria's help when she bought him from Tipton, beaten and starving…"

"You were a slave?" Damian asked shocked. He couldn't conceive of such a thing. Sylar's deep eyes sliced through him as though he were reluctantly confirming that unfortunate bit of history, yet plotting to kill Peter for divulging it.

"And then there was the little mishap with his escape and Arthur and Emily Jessup. Being shot…a couple of times as I remember…" he went on in a bored tone, "but hey. He got through it all single handedly. Right?" Peter could feel the hate pouring from Sylar's eyes, but he didn't care. He deserved to be put in his place and he was just the man to do it.

Damian continued to stare at Sylar wide eyed at the litany of feats that exceeded those in reports. "Wow." Was all he could manage. He still couldn't imagine him as a slave and the more he thought about it, the more he realized how lucky he was that his ability manifested after the war started or else he would have experienced the system firsthand. His only prayer would have been Maria as well because he probably wouldn't have survived otherwise.

Sylar could plainly see that Peter was in one of his rare moods- the one that meant he was not to be trifled with least there be consequences. "15 minutes." He granted with no amount of pleasure. "And not one second more."

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Noah stood at his door, fiddling with his keys to let himself in while a plastic bag of groceries swung in the cold breeze in his other hand. Nothing special, just bread and milk- the basics. Truthfully, he didn't need them, but he walked to the store after work for something to do to keep his mind off his daughter. Nathan hadn't updated him and there could be a number of reasons for it, but the tension of not knowing gnawed at his mind. He just didn't quite trust Sylar as much as Nathan appeared to. It wasn't that he didn't think the madman was competent enough to hatch a good plan- god knows he foiled enough schemes of the Company to make him a tactical genius. It was just hard to forget everything he had done in the past and maybe the war had changed him, but he couldn't help it: old grudges died hard. As soon as the door opened, he froze at the wonderfully sweet smell of a memory: waffles.

"Hey." Claire smiled nervously from the kitchen while Hiro happily mixed more batter in an apron. "Thought you might be hungry after a long day at work."

Noah swallowed the overwhelming feeling of joy and relief that knotted in his throat, rendering him unable to speak as he broadly beamed. "We make your favorite. Waffles!" Hiro proclaimed as he pushed his glasses up. "Sorry, no French fries."

"That's ok." He managed to choke out. "I haven't had waffles in…well, a very long time." He cautiously closed the gap between himself and Claire as though she was an apparition and she could vanish as quickly as she appeared, but the moment he wrapped his arms around her and pulled his child close to him, he never thought he would let her go again. "I missed you, Claire Bear." He sighed, stroking her hair just as he did when she was a little girl. "I was so worried."

Hiro turned away to give them some privacy with a small smile while he continued preparing batter that would likely go uneaten over the excitement. It took some convincing, but he finally talked Claire into stopping by to see her father even if it was only for a few minutes. He knew how important parents were and now that both of his were gone, he would give anything to make surprise waffles for them.

"I know." She mumbled into his chest. He was hugging her so tight she could hardly breathe, but she didn't say anything. She would let him have his moment since he waited so long to see her again. "I'm ok, though. Really."

"Are you?" He asked skeptically. "Sylar got you out ok?"

"More or less." She mumbled miserably. She saw the clear demand for explanation in her father's eyes, so she spilled her guts to save him the wasted breath. "He showed up with Matt and Peter and they got me and a few others out. Peter got shot."

"With S2?" He asked with a frown. "Where is he now?" He hoped her answer wasn't going to be a grave.

"He's fine now, but I had to beg Sylar to go back for him. He was going to let him lay there and die!"

"So the S2 didn't work?" He puzzled. "I saw test reports they ran on Sylar's blood and it was supposed to neutralize abilities."

She plopped down in the same chair Nathan found so comfortable, confident that Hiro had the waffle situation under control in the kitchen. "It did. There was this other guy there that Sylar set loose. He can manipulate people's life force- or something like that- and Sylar took it."

"He let him go just to kill him." Noah deadpanned. "Seems like wasted energy, but not entirely out of the possibility for him."

"He didn't kill him, I convinced him to use empathy to get it and he was able to take my…energy I guess and give it to Peter. Anyway, Peter's fine and Sylar's back to his old self again." She looked wearily at her father. "Whatever that's going to mean for us."

HRG took off his glasses and smiled lightly. "I don't know either, Claire. But what I do know is that right here, right now, I'm happy you're ok and we have each other."

"And waffles." Hiro added, setting a mountain of golden fluffy goodness on the table for them all to share.

"And waffles." He laughed, getting up to join the feast. "What more could a man ask for?"


	18. Lost

**A/N: Thanks to destinywriter1114 for dropping in! It's always nice to see new faces!**

**Chapter 18- Lost**

"_Our concern for the loss of our friends is not always from a sense of their worth; but rather of our own need of them and that we have lost some who had a good opinion of us."_

_-Francois de La Rochefoucauld_

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Damian tried not to seem intimidated by his teacher, but it was difficult not to be. Sylar paced slowly around the kitchen and spoke with such a deadly serious tone that his student was afraid to make a mistake least he disappoint him or worse yet- make him think he wasn't listening to every word that fell from his lips.

"You have to be in control at all times," he advised, "even if the things that surround you make you feel angry, afraid, or otherwise. You can't let any of it get to you, because then your ability will have control over you rather than you over it." He paused to give his pupil a small smirk. "And I think we both know what the outcome of that is."

Peter leaned casually against the stainless steel refrigerator, watching. He volunteered to be the target for practice as well as the lesson's monitor. He could have replicated Damian's power and took the initiative to coach him himself, but he didn't want another ability and he thought it best that Sylar get some practice at something other than purely logical pursuits. It was his hope that in teaching another person to use an empathetic ability, he might learn something about himself. It was a lofty goal, but Peter always was a shoot for the stars kind of guy.

"The key is to feel nothing unless you need to, and when you do, to moderate the intensity. Now," he gestured toward his human target, "try to feel just enough fear to pull his aura toward you, but not so much as to take any of his energy. Call up some memory of a time when you felt afraid, but control how much detail you allow yourself to remember."

Damian was hesitant to willingly harm anyone- much less the man who helped rescue him and provide expert medical care, but aside from Sylar and the now absent Claire, he was the most logical choice. And as he agreed of his own free will, Damian had to believe that he wouldn't hold it against him if he didn't get it right the first time. He took a deep breath and tried to remember the night he was attacked in the street. Simply remembering the concept wasn't enough to make Peter's shimmer budge, so heeding Sylar's advice, he started to paint a mental picture of the moment one detail at a time: the darkness of the night punctuated by the streetlights, the cool air, the abject sense of danger he felt when the men yelled at him from the porch… Suddenly, Peter's glow began to drift in his direction although he didn't seem to be suffering any for it. Damian smiled in relief that he was actually controlling his own ability…until in one sudden sweep, he found himself jerked off his feet and thrown toward the ceiling- looking perilously down at the floor while his heart pounded in a confused panic.

Peter crumpled to the ground in a heap where he stood after having his entire store torn away from him in a split second. Sylar stopped directly under where Damian was suspended to glare up at him, his raised hand holding the invisible restraints. He took another look at Peter as he slowly began to stir and arched his eyebrow to reiterate his point. "You can't be affected by anything around you while you are using your ability. If you are," he gave a quick nod in Peter's direction, "that's what will happen. Your fear will destroy those around you- people who can't regenerate and won't have the luxury of just waking up again. What you witnessed in the hallway at the facility was just a small taste of what awaits you. If you were serious about going out into the war, all around you people will be wounded and dying in the attack while you desperately try to avoid being killed yourself. What will you do then? How will you control your fear?"

"I..I don't know." He admitted. The way he described it in such vivid terms made the misery he'd experienced palpable and it was almost frightening.

Sylar's voice was clear and definitive. "You learn to feel nothing or you stay home. We have enough people dying out there without being done in by friendly fire."

"Or," Peter sighed as he struggled to stand up, "you learn how to use your ability only when you want to." He leaned on the island for support and added, "I don't think feelings are such a bad thing. You just have to know how to use them."

Sylar gently lowered his student back to the floor and disdainfully replied, "Then this is where you take over. We have very different philosophies regarding methodology."

"No we don't." He argued with a squint. "He can learn to use it or not just like we do. You don't cut things into ribbons just by pointing at it, you have to want your telekinesis to work."

"But not all abilities are willful." He calmly refuted. "I can't stop my IA from figuring out complex systems any more than you can simply stop being a door mat for the collective pain of the world." Peter frowned at him and he corrected himself. "Fine. 'Empathic' if semantics will make you feel better about your masochistic tendencies."

"He can do it." Peter restated with authority as he turned to Damian. "Go ahead. Think of whatever you were thinking of, but don't try to do anything with the energy field."

"But what if I mess up again?" He asked nervously glancing toward Sylar.

"Then you do." Peter shrugged nonchalantly. "And I get up again and we keep trying until you get it. I know you can do this, Damian."

"Peter, was um…." He seemed uncomfortable, but in dire need of reassurance and he didn't care what Sylar thought of him. "…did you have this much trouble when you tried to figure out your ability?"

Peter gave an easy laugh that instantly made him feel as though he wasn't as alone as he thought he was. "Infinitely harder." He proclaimed with a smile. "I didn't get my own ability at all. I thought I could fly and that was it, but it was much more than that. All that time I was trying to master just that one thing, I was picking up abilities from everyone I came in contact with even though I didn't know it. Eventually it made me sick because I couldn't control any of them. I had to learn how and when to use each one- just like you."

"What about you?" He asked Sylar. Surely he had at least some difficulty too…even if it was just a little, hearing him say so would have been a relief.

"Mine is different." He summed. "Intuitive aptitude allows me to figure things out, so it doesn't take as much time or effort to learn a new skill. It just happens." It may have sounded elitist, but it was the simple truth. "Assuming I can study it directly and not waste my time muddling through emotionally laden context."

"He's not kidding." Peter nodded. "I had his ability once and he just gets it. It's kind of unfair, but believe me, it comes at a cost. You don't want what he has."

"What cost?" Damian asked intrigued. "Why is it so bad?"

Sylar's eyes grew dark and distant while Peter allowed him to field the question. "The clock is ticking." He murmured. "Your 15 minutes is almost up."

Damian felt chills run up his spine. There was no question he was standing in the presence of an incredibly powerful being and he wondered if the dominant, dark, predatory force that was before him was the last thing his victims saw before he dispatched them. Inadvertently, his trepidation tugged on Sylar's aura and he made himself stop at once least he feel it. It was an indirect lesson in control because he didn't know what all the killer could do, but he didn't want to find out either.

"Good." Peter commended with an appreciative nod. "Now you get it." He couldn't see people's energy fields, but he could put two and two together to know that Damian was experiencing some anxiety and yet neither he nor Sylar was affected. That to him was progress. "You can do it his way or mine, but either way you can control your ability to use it how and when you want."

"Excuse me," Maria called from the hallway, "is it safe to come in?" Peter told her they were going to practice and warned her to stay away to avoid any mishaps. Sylar may have been able to restore her the same way he did him, but that was no guarantee and it was not the time for experimentation.

"Yeah. Damian here's just figured out how his power works." Peter smiled, giving his younger counterpart a light slap on his good shoulder.

"Congratulations, Damian!" Maria beamed at the embarrassed young man while she rummaged through the refrigerator for something to eat. "I knew you could do it with the two best teachers in the world helping you." Sylar and Peter glanced at one another and it was clear that Sylar thought he was the better of the two, but Peter let it go as he rolled his eyes.

The revelry was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Maria opened it to see a smartly dressed woman backed by what amounted to a SWAT team. She knew immediately that she worked for the government by the nondescript, shiny black car that was parked outside. "Maria Siegel?" The blonde woman asked.

"Yes." She had a bad feeling about it, but the only thing she could concentrate on was mentally screaming in the hopes that Peter could hear her before it was too late. _Run!__Take__Gabriel__and__Damian__with__you!_

"Agent Stephanie Carter. I have a few questions for you." With that, the soldiers streamed past her and into her home, guns raised to search the premises. Maria knew it was futile to protest. Illegal search and seizure laws just didn't apply in cases such as these.

Peter did hear the conversation and had just enough time to place one hand on Damian and one on Sylar and invoke his ability to disappear. "Keep quiet," he whispered into Damian's ear, "you're invisible. They can't see you."

"And keep calm." Sylar added. "Remember to control your ability. We don't need unexplainable accidents."

Damian repeated the instructions over and over in his head as he watched the men enter the kitchen like a swarm of bees with very lethal stingers. One man passed directly in front of them, entirely unaware that to his right were three targets while Sylar glared at him and the gun he knew to be loaded with S2 with contempt. Damian held his breath with wide eyes, battling the swell of panic that threatened to engulf him should Peter be wrong and they all find themselves back in the same facility they broke out of…or worse."Clear!" The soldier yelled, moving on to other rooms to continue the search. Sylar took a step back and flattened himself against the counter to let him pass unimpeded.

In the living room, Maria sat with Agent Carter. "Ms. Siegel," she began smoothly, "we know that you are an influential woman, a staunch supporter of Senator Petrelli's campaign, and a slave owner. I apologize for the way in which we were forced to come, but it is standard protocol. It is not our intent to embarrass you in front of your neighbors. Speaking of which," she cocked her head slightly, "I couldn't help but notice on the way in that down the road it looks as though your neighbor's house has recently burned down. The grounds looked abandoned." Maria didn't take the bait or offer any sort of explanation. She only raised her eyebrows as if to ask 'what of it?' "Anyway," Carter continued, "what bought us here today is a confluence of investigations- each one distinct, yet all roads seem to lead back to you."

"In what way?" She asked lightly. She had dealt with Noah enough to learn how not to show her cards when dealing with government types.

"Going back to mid August and the purchase of an unregistered slave from one Barnaby Tipton. Tall guy, slim build, dark features. Any of it ring a bell?" She asked casually. She too was in the tent that day and her recollection of Sylar was quite clear- the way he glared at her when she was led past him and the utter contempt in his eyes…

"Yes." She affirmed. She had already made up her mind that she was going to make it as difficult as she could.

"For a slave owner, you don't have many slaves around." She noted dryly, removing a remote from her pocket and scanning the premises. "On paper, you have a half dozen or so, but I'm not picking up one chip. Where are they?"

"Out." 

"Any chance any of your slaves are in northern Virginia?" She inquired replacing the remote. "We found some blood and it looks like it might come back to one of your boys."

"I don't think any of them are there. Certainly none of them are injured that I know of." Maria stubbornly denied. They had Sylar's blood and now Peter's too…

Carter sighed impatiently. "I'll be straightforward with you, Ms. Siegel. We have a credible source willing to verify that you have at one time and may possibly still be harboring the special fugitive known as Sylar." Her eyes were etched in stone. "Where is he?"

"I don't know Sylar." She shrugged. "The slave you were referring to- his name was Gabriel. He escaped about a week after I bought him."

"He escaped." Carter chuckled mockingly. "Of course he did. The question is how. Was it because you moved him up North via your network, or maybe deactivated his chip and gave him his abilities back with a secret formula you were working on, or was it because 'Gabriel' was actually Sylar and you knew it so you set him free to save yourself?"

Maria looked quizzically at her. "When I bought him, he was Gabriel Gray. He wasn't the man you see on the news today and I didn't know he was Sylar. You can try to say I rendered aid to him, but that was before the war started. I owned him and provided what was legally due him as was my right."

"Be that as it may," Carter ground out, "I can get you on so many other things. Various charges that have very serious consequences, Ms. Siegel. Sedition. Treason. All it takes is one person willing to tell a judge that they know you have engaged in these things and you will summarily be given a death sentence." She leaned in closer to give a small smile. "I have that person, Ms. Siegel."

Sylar had been listening all along from the kitchen and one thing disturbed him deeply: he didn't detect any lies. Maria truly did see a distinction between him and the villain in the media, and Carter did have a witness. He looked hastily at Peter, who was equally worried. From the hallway came a thunderous bang where the soldiers used a small explosive device to open the locked door to the lab. It was only seconds later that racks of vials and Petri dishes began streaming out the door, marked with evidence tags.

"It doesn't have to end like this." Carter said soothingly. "I know you don't agree with the war and as a special I do appreciate everything you have tried to do for us, but the best way you can help us all is to tell me where to find Sylar. He's dangerous- to us and to ordinary humans."

Maria knew her luck had run out. After so many years of being careful and trying her best to outsmart everyone, she knew this day would come eventually. "I don't know where he is." She smiled sadly. She was ever so grateful that Gabriel insisted the least she knew the better. She honestly had nothing to give her. "But I do know he's not what you say he is."

Sylar waited for the slight tickle at the base of his skull that never came and he could only guess that she sincerely believed that Peter had already whisked them away to parts unknown. She thought she was alone, but he was watching and trying to ignore the gnawing feeling deep inside that he had to do something. She was in very real danger and if he did nothing, she might not see her house or any of them again.

"No," Peter hissed under his breath as he clamped down on his shoulder to stop his forward momentum, "we can't do anything yet. Just wait."

"For what?" He growled, watching Carter put his former owner in handcuffs and lead her out her own door. He couldn't deny that his intentions were not entirely chivalrous: he wanted revenge on the woman that sold him into the system, but now he had even more reason to want her dead.

"We can tell Noah and Nathan." Peter reasoned. "She's connected. They won't do anything to her."

"And what if her connections can't help her?" He asked coolly. "They couldn't help Claire."

"That's different. Maria's not a special and she's not their close family." He explained. "Killing everyone right here right now won't solve anything either. It will just lead to more questions."

Sylar looked as though he had a million of his own, but he wisely kept them to himself. "We can see if Rebel can get tabs on her. If you've miscalculated, I'll have another rescue mission to plan and it will be astronomically more difficult."

"Why?" Damian asked in a hushed whisper. If Sylar- the man who just seemed to know how things worked- had reservations, then the situation was potentially serious indeed.

"Because they'll be expecting us." He replied grimly, typing a message on his phone. He didn't need to add that in his estimation he thought it very unlikely they would succeed. "The element of surprise is all we have left at this point and we won't even have that."

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West stood at the floor to ceiling windows of the converted factory loft staring out at the city beyond. The building was quiet mostly due to the fact that it was an abandoned industrial zone, but there were only a few eccentric artist types sharing the space as studios and most of them quietly went about their business without asking who the new guys were. They were used to strange people coming and going and thanks to exceedingly liberal attitudes among the creative set, specials weren't seen as the enemy. They were outsiders of the greater populace; misunderstood just as the artists themselves. In fact, the very loft they stayed in was donated space on behalf of the collective and the rebellion was grateful for it. As an added welcoming gesture, the bare brick walls and exposed pipes were covered in works of art in an effort to make the place a bit more inviting.

"Hungry?" Mohinder asked politely as he set the table for the two of them in anticipation that he would be. He knew from his time as a company doctor that meals in facilities were largely a hit or miss affair and the nutritional value was at times questionable.

"Sure." He mumbled, tearing himself away from the fading light in the winter sky. He meant to be more grateful, but he just wasn't feeling it.

Mohinder didn't really know the young man beyond seeing him for the first time the night of Sylar's rescue, but he could safely guess that his dour demeanor probably wasn't normal for him. "You know," he began congenially as he mixed some brown rice with beef stew to serve to his companion, "I didn't recognize you when I first saw you. Claire spoke of you often, but I guess we never had occasion to meet."

West accepted the steaming bowl with an appreciative nod. Even though it was simple, it tasted absolutely divine after what he'd lived off of for the past few months. "Yeah," he agreed with his mouth full, "I didn't get over there very often." He had to force himself to slow down in order to at least keep up appearances of having a shred of decorum. He didn't want to look like a pig at a trough.

"You must have been excited to meet with her again." He smiled. He wasn't dating her and he was glad that she appeared in the lab after not seeing her since she left for Canada. He noted the way West's eyes fell into his bowl and lingered miserably there. "You…were glad to see her…were you not?" He asked hesitantly. He was trying to make pleasant small talk with someone he didn't really know and it looked as though he stepped directly into a beehive.

"Not as happy as she was to see Sylar." He grumbled.

Mohinder laughed nervously. "Claire? Happy to see Sylar? I can't imagine the possibility."

"That's the way it looked to me."

"Well," Mohinder cleared his throat in an effort to sound more authoritative, "she may have been relieved that he released her from the facility, but I can assure you that there is no amount of love lost between them. They never have liked one another since the moment they met from what I understand."

"Then why did he come?" He asked bitterly. "He's freaking Sylar, he doesn't listen to anyone, but he listens to her."

Mohinder laughed lightly as he sat back in his seat. "Allow me to share something about the great and mighty Sylar. It might appear that he's in her service, but he only does what is beneficial to him at any given moment. World events do occasionally coincide with his own personal agenda, in which case it seems as though he's cooperative. Yes, he may grant her request but it is either because it furthers his own plans or by doing so he intends to irritate her. Ideally for him, it would be both. In this case, he freed her because she is an asset to the cause and he did it as a personal favor to Nathan- for which he'll extract some exhorbant future repayment no doubt. He also gets the added pleasure of holding the fact that it was he who rescued her over her head for all eternity."

West looked a little sheepish. "So, what you're saying is that there's nothing going on between them?"

"Oh, there is plenty going on between them." He corrected. "But as they would say, she's just not that into him." After he swallowed a sip of his tea he mused, "You know, they will both live a very long time. I would say that the state of affairs between them is such that should the entire human race be eliminated and only the two of them left to repopulate, I'm reasonably sure that humans would become extinct." He was relieved when West began to laugh. "I don't think you have cause for worry. The nature of their relationship is most akin to siblings: pure antagonism at its best."

"Well, that's one out of the way." He chuckled, then turned serious. "How well do you know the Damian guy?"

"Not at all." Mohinder confessed. "Why do you ask?"

"She just seemed chummy with him too." He sighed despondently.

"Forgive me if I appear too analytical, but I think I detect a pattern here." He softly smiled. "You do seem to give more credence to her every interaction with other men than may be called for. Am I correct?" When West just sat in his chair looking offended, he took a different approach. "Let's try a little exercise, shall we? When you all came back from the facility, who did she talk to first?"

West looked upward while he tried to recall the order of events. "Peter?" He guessed.

"Peter was near her, but that's not who she spoke with." He reminded. "It was Emma. Now, she was with you for a time but she left to go talk to another group of people. Who was it?"

West's eyes darkened with determination as he spat out, "Damian and Sylar."

"And?" Mohinder gently prompted. When west gave him a blank stare, he provided, "Maria. You see, you don't remember her interacting with other women, only men seem to stick in your memory and that my friend, is simple jealously. Has she ever given you prior reason to mistrust her?"

"No." He reluctantly admitted. Suddenly he felt ashamed for ever doubting her and jumping to conclusions the way he did.

"Then you must put it out of your mind and have faith that her only thoughts are for you. Men comprise 49% of the world's population, West, so if you expect her to have any sort of normal existence she will have to talk with one at some time."

"Well, when you put it that way…" he laughed. A convent was certainly no place for her.

"Exactly." Mohinder smiled with satisfaction. "But think of it this way: your jealously means that you care very much for her. If you didn't, you simply wouldn't give a damn who she spoke with or what was said. It is a normal reaction to a perceived loss of someone you love, you just can't permit it to become a self fulfilling prophecy."

After a moment of silence, West got up the courage to ask, "Do you ever regret what we all did that night?"

"Freeing Sylar?" He asked puzzled. He really hadn't thought much about it since it happened. "Sylar is a force of evil to be sure and it does seem as though we made something of a deal with the devil in saving him, but I choose to take a step back and look at the broader implications rather than allow my own opinions of him to blind me."

"Such as?"

"Personally I believe that he is the closest thing this planet will ever see to the antichrist, or in my tradition, the god Shiva." He calmly explained. "He's at times supremely selfish and destructive, but out of the death comes new possibilities. Without him, there can be no new creation or appreciation of life."

"I'm not following." West candidly admitted. "I get the whole life and death dynamic, but how does that relate to what we did? Can't we be part of his death cycle?" He asked a little hopelessly.

"We could have." He conceded. "But in showing mercy and giving him life, we by extension granted ourselves freedom. Where would the revolution be without him? As abhorrent as we believe violence to be, there is a place for it in the world and he is using his dark dispositions for the benefit of all- to create a new life for us. Were it not for our actions, we would all still be working in fields with chips in our necks."

West begrudgingly admitted defeat as he massaged the faint scar that ran down the base of his neck. "I still have mine."

"As do I. Daily it serves as a reminder of what once was and the importance of continuing to do what I can to put a stop to it. I still believe that Sylar is a terrible human being, but I don't regret helping him even if he doesn't intend to benefit us by becoming involved in the war effort to the extent that he has. Even an accidental ally is a welcome one."

"You seem pretty placid about it." He commended. "I guess I just haven't figured out what to think of him yet."

Mohinder took another sip of his tea and chuckled softly. "Had you asked me on another day you might have received a different response, but we have a saying in India: people are not naturally either friends or enemies- friendship and enmity arise from circumstance." He finished the cold dregs of his drink and added, "I suppose today I am feeling a bit more generous. Tomorrow I can't promise I will hold the same level of esteem for him. Only his actions can determine that."


	19. The Needs of the Many

**Chapter 19- The Needs of the Many**

"_Let us lose none of their humble words, let us note their slightest gestures, and tell me, tell me that we will think of them together, now and later, when we realize the misery of the times and the magnitude of their sacrifice."_

_-Georges Duhamel _

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Maria pulled her legs close to her chest as she sat on her cot, staring at the large window and wondering if there was anyone else staring back at her through the darkened glass. All of her personal belongings had been taken from her in including her clothes and jewelry and he was issued the same paper thin pants and shirt that Damian, West and Claire were wearing when Gabriel rescued them. The room was just about the starkest and most uninviting that she'd ever occupied. But then again, she guessed that was the point: people were meant to feel as though they were unwelcome.

She had only been there for a few hours, but it felt like days as she patiently waited for someone to come and speak to her. As she looked around her and took note of the Spartan conditions, she wondered if her experiences were in any way similar to what Damian and perhaps even Peter or Gabriel might have been involved in. Both indicated that they had intimate knowledge of places such as the one she found herself in, but neither man would ever elaborate as to what capacity or provide details. She couldn't say it was odd for Gabriel since he seemed like a man who preferred his privacy, but Peter was a different story and she could only guess that he never told her because it likely involved maltreatment as was evidenced by Damian's condition. He probably knew she couldn't stand hearing of his ordeal, so he never spoke in more than guarded innuendo when the topic came up. It was either his thoughtful consideration, or the truth was just that painful and for his own reasons he chose not to think about it, but either way she was left wondering what her future held. She had reason for optimism because she was not a special and there always was the small glimmer of hope that perhaps…just maybe…Peter and/or Gabriel would try to intervene should things become serious. She couldn't exactly speak for Gabriel, but she knew that Peter was fiercely loyal and would never turn his back on her- not if there was any way that he could help, even though she did once tell him when he was running himself ragged trying to save everyone who called him that she would understand if it was she that needed him and he couldn't come to her rescue. It seemed appropriate to try and ease his conscience then, but now she was starting to reassess her position and hoped that either Peter didn't hear her or would wisely call bullshit on her.

She was just starting to nod off in the chilly room when the door opened and Agent Carter entered, pushing a cart containing a large flat screen TV. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she greeted with an apologetic smile, "I didn't expect it would be so hard to find one of these." Maria wasn't sure if she expected her to congratulate her on her success, but she remained silent for the time being. "It's well past dinner time. Are you hungry?"

"Dinner _and_ a movie?" Maria asked skeptically. "I wasn't expecting that."

Carter gave her a wry smile. "You probably won't want to eat while you're watching what I have for you." Seeing that her captive wasn't easily rattled- at least outwardly- she took a different approach. "I don't want to try and scare you, Ms. Siegel. I don't do things the same way others do. I don't think you need to be cruel to others in an effort to get information."

Even though she saw through the thinly veiled reference, she played along. "What do you mean?"

"Well," she shrugged, "even though I don't condone it, sometimes things happen. Tests are ordered, people moved around and sometimes…lost." She certainly didn't seem very bothered by the prospect, Maria thought. "I dug this one out of the vault. It's just an example."

Maria took a deep breath and made herself look at the large screen. No matter what she was about to see, she was determined not to give Carter the satisfaction of knowing that she was anxious about her threats. The TV flickered to life and the image on the screen started out blurry, but came into focus as the camera operator zoomed in on a man with a thin build and dark hair strapped to a table wearing only pajama bottoms much like the ones she wore. At the bottom of the screen was a timestamp of when the recording was made: October 2007. Although the man's face was turned away from the camera, he appeared to be unconscious as doctors in white coats took turns poking and prodding his various wounds and bruises- all very fresh judging by the vivid colors on the high definition screen- and scribbling notes on clipboards. The man looked as though he had endured a vicious beating and he moaned pitifully as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. From somewhere off camera came an unmistakable voice that made Maria go pale. "Anything yet?"

"No, Mr. Bennet." One of the doctors reported in a bored tone. "But if we keep going…" he paused and tapped his pencil on his clipboard nervously, "he won't last much longer."

Noah appeared by the man's side, looking down at him in disgust with his hands on his hips. "We have orders, people."

"But, Sir," the doctor snorted in disbelief, "he's no good to us dead."

The overhead light glanced off his horned rimmed glasses as he looked up at the dissenter. "Then make sure he doesn't die." He suggested impatiently. "It would be better for everyone if he's dead, but that's not what we're here to do." The man slowly turned his head enough to look up at Noah towering over him and it was obvious without even seeing his face that he was terrified by the ragged breaths he painfully drew and the feeble attempt at escape from his restraints. "Relax, _Gabriel_," Noah sneered, "you aren't going anywhere for awhile."

"Why are you doing this to me?" He begged in a hoarse and barely audible voice while the doctors stood around, obviously indifferent to his condition. Maria got the sense that they were perhaps the cause of it and it made her sick to think that the man she had come to know had suffered and experienced what looked like outright torture, but the true horror lie in the fact that Noah Bennet was party to it. No wonder Gabriel reacted as he did the night Noah came to dinner and he implied that they had a long history. She never would have guessed that the nature of the relationship was so brutal. She always got the impression that Noah was involved in nefarious dealings while he worked for the government and now she was witness to a small slice of the whole picture.

Noah gave him an acidic smile and taunted, "I told you we would tear you apart to figure out what makes you tick."

Carter paused the recording and quietly observed, "Things like that happen all the time. I am curious, though." She cocked her head slightly and asked, "Is that the same Gabriel Gray that you were familiar with?"

"I…" Maria swallowed hard to rid herself of the sadness and anxiety that choked her, "I don't know." She didn't see his face, but she knew she didn't want to see any more of the video. "Maybe…probably." She was witness to human abuse and suffering every time she and Peter went on slave buying trips, but that was after the fact and never had she directly observed someone being tortured and certainly not someone she knew personally.

"Well, truthfully you could watch the entire uncut Lord of the Rings trilogy a few times over and this would still be longer, so let's just skip ahead a bit." She sifted through a fast blur of images until she found one she thought looked suitable. Maria's eye twitched in anger at the close-up of Gabriel's bruised and bloodied face- his large, dark eyes hazy with fatigue and pain. He had accumulated more open wounds since the first time he appeared on the tape and she flinched as he screamed in sheer agony while one doctor held his head still and another forcefully crammed a length of tube down his already bleeding nose. "Oh," Carter casually winced, "that looks like it hurts."

"Why are you showing me this?" Maria asked in shock. Her intention was to be strong no matter what, but how could she be so cold in the face of such suffering?

Carter sighed while in the background, Sylar's anguished cries diminished into subdued whimpers as some sort of brownish liquid was fed into his body though the tube. Maria hoped for his sake it was pain medicine or an anesthetic. "To help you understand." She replied simply. "I know what you're thinking. You feel sorry for him to see this done to him- as though he's the victim. But I have something else for you to see. His actual victims." She plugged in a memory stick that contained a slideshow of every person he was suspected to have murdered- each a horrific scene of meticulous death. Each graphic photo was accompanied by a name: Isaac Mendez, Charlie Andrews, Bridget Bailey, Sue Landers, Dale Smither, Bob Bishop, Ted Sprauge, and the list went on and on. Some of the pictures contained so many bodies that vague descriptions of locations were used such as "Facility #810 Manhattan."

The final picture made her look away with strangled, mournful cry- Bryant Siegel. The image of her husband's mutilated body laying in a field was more than she could bear and she began to sob. Carter let her steep in her grief before quietly continuing. "Sylar- or Gabriel- is an incredibly charming man when he wants to be. Con men are. Don't blame yourself for falling for his game. I did once too, but he's not the man you think he is. This," she gestured toward the TV, "is who he really is. Every one of those people had families, people like you who are also his victims. We can't let anyone else suffer. Your husband was a special and so were your slaves. You know we aren't like him, yet it's because of him that we all suffer. Tell us where he is so we can stop this." She asked softly. "His life is not more important than the lives of everyone else."

"If I tell you where to find him," Maria sniffled as she wiped her eyes, "what will you do to him? That?" She asked gesturing to the screen.

"No." Carter vowed shaking her head earnestly. They couldn't afford to take chances- they would kill him swiftly.

Maria gave a despondent sigh. "Well, I couldn't tell you where he is even if I wanted to. I don't know where he is or how to find him."

"Then maybe you know some other things." Carter pushed with a sour expression. "The identities of your contacts that you used to funnel slaves out of the country to Canada? The formulation of your antidote to ability suppressant?" Maria glared at her with a stony expression. "This process moves quickly, Ms. Siegel, and your time to save yourself is running out."

All her life she tried to stand up and do what was right no matter the consequences and she couldn't lack courage when her veracity was called into question. She couldn't betray all those that fought for a better world, but more importantly she couldn't be a traitor to the legacy that she and her husband shared. Every day Gabriel, Peter, and countless others faced death in the fight with bravery and they deserved nothing less from her. "I know about those things," she granted with steely determination, "but I will never tell you."

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"This had better be important, Pete." Nathan scowled as he looked around at the worn headstones behind the gothic cathedral. It would have been entirely too creepy for him to agree to a meeting there were it not for the fact that he knew the area would be bathed in the soft, pale glow from the interior lights as it passed through the stained glass windows. Sylar, however, looked to be entirely comfortable as though he routinely hung out in cemeteries. Just off to his left was a massive marble statue of an angel, looking mournfully in his direction in all its pure white beauty. The contrast between the angel's seeming pity on the killer and Sylar's dark expression was almost disorienting and Nathan couldn't stop staring.

"Of course it is." Peter squinted in irritation. "You think I don't know how dangerous this is for you?"

Nathan shoved his hands deep into his wool coat and looked sheepish. "I didn't mean it like that. Besides, this isn't exactly a safe situation for either of you, so let's make this quick, ok? I have some business too."

"Fine, we have a couple of things." Peter nodded. "First, we thought you might want to say hi."

"To who?" Nathan asked nervously. He didn't like surprises and he was reasonably sure that his little brother knew him better than to pull something like that. He hadn't noticed that Peter seemed to be grasping something until he let go and Damian magically appeared next to him. "Jesus." He muttered a little shocked. It could have been the lighting, but he swore his intern looked more pale and a little skinnier than he used to. Aside from that, he was obviously wearing clothes borrowed from Sylar. The sleeves of the jacket and pants were a little long and everything was black: exactly Sylar's style. He wanted to ask how he was, but in the end it was a stupid question. The kid had been through hell, but survived and as he was short on time, that knowledge would have to be good enough for the time being. He settled on a quick nod and asked, "What else did you have?"

"Maria." Peter quietly answered. "Agents came and took her today, Nathan."

His brain may have well frozen in the cold at the news because it just stopped working. He blinked slowly trying to comprehend what it all may mean for him as well as the revolution. She was connected to him, Noah, and an entire chain of people of influence and power that made the ladder work. It was almost a foregone conclusion that the agents would get at least some information from her, but exactly what worried him deeply. His worst fear had come true: the house of cards was collapsing before his eyes. He jumped slightly as his phone's vibration brought him back to reality. "It's Noah." He announced reading the brightly lit screen. "I've got to take this."

Sylar rolled his dark eyes at being brushed aside and left to shiver in the darkness while Nathan tended to personal business. They traveled to the other side of the country in the middle of the night to personally talk to him and Bennet gets to lounge around in his underwear in front of the fireplace calling in? He might have been incensed enough to say something, but he stopped short when he noted the odd look on Peter's face. He didn't know if the empath was reading his brother's thoughts or if he was feeling out his mood, but something was clearly going down and he didn't seem to like it one bit.

After he hung up, Nathan bowed his head and let out a deep sigh that made an immense cloud in the chilly air. "She's gone, Pete." His voice was trembling and heavy with genuine sorrow.

"Gone?" He cried in shock. "Nathan, gone where?" He sounded panicked and he was because Sylar's eyes were ablaze with fury and burning holes into his very soul as he glared at him accusatorily.

"She was executed about an hour ago." He explained. "Apparently for treason. Noah found out about her capture and tried to get to her, but he was too late." He pushed the light layer of snow on the ground miserably with the toe of his shoe and mumbled, "He's going to try and claim her body so she can have a proper burial."

Damian looked from one person to the next helplessly as if they could somehow make it not so. "But…" he stammered in disbelief, "I mean…"

"It's over." Sylar growled, still fixated on Peter. "We had our chance and we failed to act. Now she's dead and the only question is how much they were able to get her to say." He made it simple for Peter to read between the lines: it was a heavy handed 'I told you so' of epic proportion and he had no intention of softening the blow of the ramifications of his decision just to make him feel better about screwing up. He might have killed him there on the spot, but he knew he would only get up again.

"Right." Nathan reluctantly agreed. "We have to assume that she told them everything. I think we all know that they can be very…persuasive in getting people to talk. If that's the case, we have to move fast to end this before we all end up dead."

Peter ran his hands through his hair and sighed as his eyes watered. "I can't…I…" he was obviously still struggling with the loss of the person whom he'd come to respect and consider almost as a sister. "It was my fault. This is all my fault. She's dead because of me." His overwhelming guilt was palpable. It was he who said they should wait and his mistake ended up costing her life. She trusted him and he failed her.

Even though Sylar raised his eyebrow as if to proclaim 'damn right it is!', Nathan didn't have the time or desire to inflict more pain on his brother than he was already in. "This is obviously tragic news, but we have to look past it. We can mourn for her after we win the war."

"We have a plan for that." Sylar stated, finally taking his eyes off Peter to focus on the task at hand. He didn't have to beat Peter up for his error in judgment, he would do a fine job of it all on his own but it didn't mean he didn't want to watch. "We're going to take out all of the facilities."

"All of them?" Nathan echoed a little incredulous. "I hope you have your troops ready, because the invasion has to be moved up."

"To when?" His impromptu general inquired. Thankfully with the aid of teleporters, people could be repositioned in a moment's notice but it still required epic logistical planning to pull off with minimal casualties.

"Tomorrow by the latest. If she told them anything, the government will not hesitate to mobilize and act on the information." Sylar scoffed lightly. He knew he was asking a lot, but that wasn't the biggest of his requests. "I also have a plan."

"What?" Peter asked dreading his answer. Nathan's plans were never palatable and he suspected this one wouldn't be either given the tone of his voice.

Nathan looked directly at Sylar and his angel who still looked on with sadness as if it knew what was about to happen. "To bring an end to this conflict, we need concessions from both sides. Bringing down the facilities is only half of the equation- the public needs to feel as though they are safe. Once we have that we can have a real truce."

Sylar's eyes narrowed and he cocked his head slightly. "So what do you suggest?" He had his suspicions, but he wanted Nathan to say it out loud and confirm his worst fears.

Nathan was calm and his voice steady. "We need to slay the dragon. Once the public thinks you're dead, we can move forward with the peace plan. There's already a project in the works just waiting for the right moment."

"What?" Peter howled. "Are you insane? You want us to kill him? After everything he's done for us? _For__you?_" Of all the plans Nathan had ever hatched, this one was the most revolting. He couldn't believe he would even entertain such a thought and he wanted no part of it. Furthermore, he couldn't believe he'd ever defend Sylar against his own flesh and blood, but it was simply too much to ask of anyone.

"Better us than them." Damian mumbled. It was barbaric, but at least if his own kind did the job he would still have a chance to regenerate. Allow the seething mob to get a hold of him and there would be nothing left of him to put back together…

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One level below where Maria was being held, Luke leaned against the sink in his cell, holding his head while blood dripped from his nose and mouth and fighting the sickness that spun in his stomach. Had he a means of killing himself, he would have done it. He simply couldn't live with the guilt that ate him alive over being forced to sign an affidavit against Maria Siegel stating she was involved in the rebellion and was aiding Sylar. Some things in the paper were true and most were outright lies, but he was given one simple choice: sign it or die.

He only knew Maria by reputation, he had never actually met her and he was grateful that he hadn't. It was bad enough that West, Peter, and everyone else would forever hate him and may even try to kill him for what he was forced to do, and he deserved it. He thought he could outsmart the agents or perhaps even outlast them but they were too skilled in ways to make him wish he were dead without actually doing him the favor of killing him. They had beaten him and taken his ability one drop at a time through an IV of S2 and although he tried his best to resist, they won.

Tears began to mix with the blood as he cried. West was right all along and now he was alone and hated. If they ever did release him- which he doubted they would- he would be a marked man. Perhaps even Sylar himself would come for him just as he warned Carter he would. He sold out everyone he knew just so he could have some warm clothes and a hot meal. He sniffled and wiped his bloody nose with his shirt. His pain was the only company he had for the time being and he couldn't imagine it would ever change.


	20. Final Arrangements

**A/N: Thanks to Konoha's Kage for following along and reviewing! **

**Chapter 20- Final Arrangements**

"_In any case the road to success is pictured as one beset with perils but which, it would seem, an individual with the proper qualities can overcome to attain the goal. The reward is seen in the distance; the way is lonely. Further on it is a route for wolves; one can succeed only at the cost of the failure of others."_

_-Che Guevara_

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Peter wandered away from the group, still in shock and the rest of them thought it best to give him a few minutes to pull himself together. Sylar stayed where he was with his hands crammed into his pockets and bouncing slightly to generate body heat, but he kept a watchful eye over the empath to be sure he didn't wander off too far. He was his proverbial ride home after all… As hard as Peter seemed to be taking it, one would have thought it was he that was asked to sacrifice himself for the greater good.

Nathan pulled Damian aside and gave him an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry it had to end like this." He admitted bitterly. "It's not what I would have imagined."

"Me or Maria?" He asked confused.

His boss gave him a noncommittal shrug. "Both, I guess."

"So this is it then." He declared bleakly. "This is my life. I can't go back to my job, my family. Nothing."

Nathan pitied his former intern. "In time you will, just not in the foreseeable future." He knew his words would offer little comfort, but Damian was sent to him for guidance and he felt obligated to him in some way. "I tried to give you the insider's track on what politics is all about, Damian, but the truth is far more ugly and convoluted than even you can imagine. Be thankful your run ended as it did. You got to live to see another day when so many others didn't. I know you feel lost right now, but I won't let you fall through the cracks again. You've met some of the people who can help you start a new life, show you the ropes of passing for normal." He glanced up at Sylar and cleared his throat. "And some not so much, but my point is you're not alone in this."

Damian lowered his head and smiled. "All that time I worked for you, I had no idea you had specials in your own family."

"Good." He laughed. "That's how it's supposed to work. I work very hard to keep Claire and Peter out of the limelight. They deserve their privacy even if I've given up my own."

"Peter is really remarkable." He commended. "I mean, to have so many abilities- to be evolved beyond even the next stage and yet to care so much about others. He would be good for office."

"No," Nathan laughed as he shook his head, "he wouldn't. Pete's a terrible liar and he's entirely too kind hearted for his own good. Great for a nurse or paramedic, bad for a politician."

"With all of his powers, he can do so much good." He noted in awe. "He can teleport, copy anyone's ability…"

"Yep," he agreed with an amused tone, "ask him where he learned to fly."

Damian thought about it for a minute and the smug look on his mentor's face blew his mind. "Sir?" He asked shocked. "You…you have?" How was it possible that the head of the specials project was a special himself?

"I can, and I have to." He nodded looking at his watch. "Do me a favor and don't encourage Peter to try and save the world. He has a complex about that as it is." Damian watched in wonder as his former boss looked to the sky and suddenly shot upwards and out of sight in the blink of an eye.

Sylar watched Nathan depart and quietly approached the bench where Peter had collapsed to tentatively sit on the edge, rubbing his hands together in a futile effort to keep them warm as the snow softy fell around them. Peter, of course, was immediately suspicious that his visit was with the intent to taunt and insult him, but he detected nothing from Sylar but a calm stillness tinged with just a bit of sadness and apprehension. He often chided the murderer for being unfeeling and cold, but in that moment when he was consumed by guilt and self loathing, he wished for all the world that he was able to just turn off his emotions like flicking a switch the way he seemed to be able to do. They sat together in the dark silence for some time before Peter sniffled and whispered, "How do you do it?"

Sylar paused and curiously asked, "Do what?"

In the pale light of the cathedral, Peter was reminded of the trip the two of them took to the art museum and what a surreal experience it was for him to learn a little bit about Sylar's personal side- the one he probably didn't let anyone see and it seemed by the tone of his voice that in that moment he was again just Gabriel, an average watchmaker from Queens. He simply wasn't used to dealing with Sylar on such normal terms and he was perplexed as to why he wasn't being his usual cruel self when he had the perfect opportunity. "How do you manage to…I don't know." He sighed, losing confidence that he could get a straight answer from the man next to him.

"I can't read minds, Peter." He said with just a hint of humor in his voice.

Peter smirked at the inside joke and found the courage to explain. "I don't mean to be insulting, but how do you see so much death and just get over it?"

Sylar slowly nodded in understanding. "Death happens to all people everyday- the just and the deserving alike. There is no meaning or purpose to loss, Peter, it's just a statistical probability that it will be someone you know."

"So that's it?" He scoffed. "Maria was just a statistic?"

"In some ways, yes." He conceded. "But something tells me it's not the fact that she died that bothers you, it's how it happened and you want to know how I live with knowing I have ended so many lives while you obsess over one?" His tone had turned a bit darker and it was clear he didn't appreciate the connotation that he was entirely remorseless.

"Not just that, but I mean the war…everything." He clarified with a grand sigh. "I've been out there too, Sylar, and I've seen people blown to bits all around me. I know I had nothing to do with it, but I feel sorry for every person that died on me because I think that if I only worked harder or was a little faster, then I could have saved them."

"And that's the difference between you and I." He summed. "I don't second guess myself or question my own abilities. I know my limitations and don't try to exceed them."

"Bullshit!" Peter scowled. "Don't tell me you didn't question your decision when you heard she died and don't tell me you don't push yourself when you know you can't do something. I was there when you tried to get your abilities back after you were shot and I know for a fact that you were way beyond your limits when you came back for me at the facility. My head doesn't tingle when people lie like yours does, but it doesn't mean I can't figure it out."

"So what then, we just sit here in the cold until the war's over?" Sylar asked mockingly making a sweeping gesture across the rows of headstones. "Or maybe we should just join everyone else here and lay down and die? Unless you can travel back in time and save Maria, there's nothing we can do about it now but learn from our mistake and keep moving. If you want to fall apart and roam around here moaning and sobbing that's fine, but do it on your own time."

"Do you even give a damn she's dead?" He asked incredulously. "After everything she did for you, you can't even have the decency to be sad that she's gone?"

"I am." He informed him in a low voice. "But it's because of what she did that I'm going to see this thing trough until the end. We aren't helping her, ourselves, or anyone by throwing our hands up in surrender when we should be fighting. This was her war too and the honorable thing to do is to win it. Adding defeat to tragedy would be demoralizing to all that knew her and I don't think that's how she'd want to be remembered." Yes, he did mourn her as much as he was able, but in the end he was determined to do what he always had when faced with emotionally painful memories: he would file them away until such a time when he could deal with it in private. His focus had to stay on the war and he was reasonably sure that she wouldn't want him to be distracted by her passing. "She set an example for us to follow, Peter, and I think we'd be wise to do so."

"What do you mean?" He asked tilting his head.

"She put aside her own grief to help the larger cause of circumventing the slave system and later the war." He explained. "She didn't let the death of her husband interfere with her duties."

Peter shook his head sadly. "Not that you ever saw, but believe me she did when she was alone. I was the only one she allowed to see her cry and she did sometimes until she fell asleep from exhaustion. I don't think she ever got over it." He noted the small wave of sadness that drifted from Sylar and he was a bit surprised that he would feel sorry for one of his victims. "She knew you did it." He added quietly. "I told her and she still chose to save your life after we brought you back from Jessup's."

"I told her too." He admitted. "I suspected that she already knew, but I didn't know exactly when she found out." There was a brief moment of silence before he quietly continued, "I think she may have found some peace at the end though."

"Really?" Peter asked hopefully. "Why do you think that?"

"She told me she would forgive me for killing him if I could try to be a better person." His sad, brown eyes settled on Peter and he smiled nervously. "She wasn't lying." After a mystified shake of his head he added, "No one has ever done that."

Peter smiled warmly and nodded. It sounded exactly like something she would do and he remembered the conversation they had over Sylar's nearly dead body about her hope that he could become the man he saw in the future. "You know, that's the whole reason she did it." He recalled. "She really believed in you." He sat next to Sylar in the stillness, basking in the sensation of guarded hope that emanated from the notorious killer. He hoped she was right and he knew it would be a titanic struggle for Sylar to change, but he was on the right track and now that Maria was gone, he was determined to take her place as his external conscience until he developed his own. If he was responsible for her death, the least he would do to honor her memory was to help Sylar become the person she believed he had the potential to be. Sylar was wrong: her death could have meaning and purpose. "So what are you going to do?" He cautiously asked. "About Nathan's plan?"

Sylar's mood immediately changed from a warm sensation of happiness to a frigid sense of fear and Peter involuntarily shivered. Sylar hung his head and sighed. "The logical thing…"

"Screw the logical thing!" Peter interjected. "This is your life he wants to end to placate the masses. Do you have to be so damn logical about everything? Forget what he wants, what do you want?"

Sylar patiently leaned forward to place his hands in front of his face in a contemplative manner. "What I want," he began slowly, "is for this all to end. It really is simple, Peter. I have to and there is no other option."

"Yes there is!" He vehemently disagreed. "There is always a choice. You can say no and walk away right now and I wouldn't blame you at all. There's a difference between duty and suicide."

"And go where?" Sylar calmly asked. "With nearly the entire world familiar with my face, where will I hide? This war could go on for years even if we are successful in taking out the facilities. How long are you willing to keep going out there and watching people die? You may not blame me now, but what about 100, 1000 victims later? Will you feel the same when children die in your arms?" He smirked and shook his head. "No. You will feel your precious guilt at telling me to walk away and the entire time you will think to yourself that all of it could have been avoided if I just went with the plan and gave myself up."

"But you know you can't trust them." He mentioned darkly. "You won't have any control over what they do to you. They probably will kill you for good just because they have the chance."

The fear and uncertainty that wafted off the condemned man was almost overwhelming. "I know." He agreed with a dry swallow of trepidation. "That's why you are going to do it."

Peter's eyes went wide. "No way." He declared shaking his head. "I'm not going to be a part of this. I can't kill you." He and Sylar had quite a history, but through it all, Peter could honestly never say he wanted him dead, much less to be the one to watch him take his final breath. In fact, he'd spent an awful lot of his time and effort trying to prevent that very thing from happening on several occasions.

"You have to." Sylar quietly pressed. "You…" He paused and released a heavy sigh as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "You are the only one I can trust, Peter."

He was taken aback by his stark honesty and the gravity of the mission he was tasked with. "Why me?" He nearly pleaded.

"Because I know you won't let anything happen to me." He reasoned. "I can move my spot so you can put me in suspension while they…" he cast his eyes downward and muttered, "do whatever they're going to do to me." His hesitant voice was like a disembodied whisper among the graves. "I can do this if I know that you'll be with me the whole time, watching and protecting me."

"Are you serious?" He asked half laughing. "You're seriously considering doing this _knowing_ who you're dealing with after what they've done to you _and_ you're putting your trust in a person who's just failed at the very thing you're asking me to do?"

"That's exactly why I can trust you. I know that you'll be so guilt ridden that you will be extra vigilant so it doesn't happen again."

"Ok," Peter smiled, "I see how it is. But still, your powers…"

"I'll have to neutralize them." With a quick sideways glance to judge Peter's horrified reaction he clarified, "Partially, at least. I'll obviously need them to work on some level if I'm going to actually survive this."

"But you also need to look convincing." He caught on. "S1?"

"That's what I was thinking, if Maria had any left or Mohinder knows how to mix up some more."

"I think she did, but it probably isn't safe to go back to her house. They probably have agents crawling all over the place combing for evidence." The very thought of her house being invaded disgusted him. It was almost like a personal violation. "I think Mohinder's the safer option if we can get him the stuff he needs."

"Do you think your doctor friend will have the guts for something like this?" He asked doubtfully. She certainly showed her moxy in dealing with the aftermath of the facility rescue, but this was an entirely different situation- one that called for stealth and discretion.

"Emma?" He checked a little confused. "I don't know. Guts for what?"

Sylar gave him an incredulous look. "You know they will want a doctor to confirm my death and possibly do a postmortem."

Peter wrinkled his forehead. "You want her to autopsy you?" It was all just too much and the calm manner with which he spoke of his own dissection was absolutely unnerving. "You are seriously morbid, man."

"I don't _want_ her to," he growled impatiently, "but if it has to be done I would rather she, as a fellow special, do it so she can make it look official without damaging me beyond repair. Attention to detail in this case may seem morbid, but it may just literally save my life- the same way it saved yours."

"You're right," he sighed defeated, "I'm sorry. I guess I just can't believe that you're actually going to do this."

"Wouldn't you?" He asked knowingly.

Peter laughed. "Yeah, but this is you we're talking about." When Sylar gave him a death glare, he felt prompted to choose his next words more carefully. "Not that you haven't done far more than anyone has expected, it's just more than anyone should have to do."

Sylar tacitly accepted Peter's compliment with a nonchalant shrug. "There is one more thing."

Peter knew it was too good to be true. "And what's that?" He asked suspiciously with a squint.

"I want your word that you will give my abilities back at the end of it all." The look of despondency in his eyes was clear. While Peter may not have cared if he had abilities or not, Sylar very much did and to live an ordinary life was a death sentence to him. "I did it and so can you if you replicate Damian's ability."

"Why can't Damian do it?" He asked jerking his head toward the figure huddled by a tree several feet away. "It's his ability."

"Maybe he can, but no one knows for sure and I don't want to wait until I'm laying in pieces on a table in agony waiting to see if he can or not." He hissed. "Details, Peter. Give me your word that you will." His eyes locked onto Peter's with intense focus and determination. "Promise me."

"Ok." Peter nodded softly. "Fine. I will."

"Alright then," he quietly nodded, obviously relieved that he'd secured what he wanted, "we should go. It's getting late and I have a war to end by tomorrow."

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To anyone else, roaming the stark white hallways of the facility morgue at such a late hour might have been unnerving, but Noah Bennet was not your average person. He had been party to and witness of a half a life of brutality such that to find someone cold on a slab was comforting because it meant the suffering had ended. He wasn't sure exactly when it stopped bothering him, but it was years ago if it had been a day. There was a certain sense that it should have bothered him, but the only thing that weighed on his mind as he made his way to the end of the corridor where the bodies were held was that he'd failed. It was already late when he got a mysterious text message that Maria had been captured and by the time he got to the building, he found out he was too late. She was taken before a secret judge and condemned to death for her role in the revolution and nothing, not even Hiro could have changed that outcome by going back in time. Most people were familiar with the butterfly effect, but not many knew that it worked in reverse as well, often precluding events from being radically altered. Noah hated butterflies.

Because of his position, no one would think twice about his being there or even inquiring about her case file as a slave owner, but getting her body out of the facility would be a challenge. Lucky for him, he had a timid teleporter with falsified government papers at his side under the pretense of being a researcher. He just hoped he could hold onto his waffles.

Getting to her body was easy enough. A flash of his government ID, a stern expression and clipped responses got him through the door and into an examination room with the halogen lights and obligatory stainless steel equipment and seafoam green linoleum floor. Hiro looked around nervously while they waited for her body to be delivered from the cooler by the bored lab tech. After a body in a black bag was wheeled in on a gurney, Noah and Hiro stood on opposite sides, looking down at the zipper as though it would open itself. Finally, Noah got up the courage to grab it and pull down.

Hiro frowned when he easily recognized her pale face. A small part of him was hoping that it was all a mistake and that it would be the wrong body or that maybe she was only drugged and sleeping, but her bluish purple lips told him otherwise. He was relieved to know that there were very few marks aside from the slight discoloration resulting from tiny bits of blood trapped in her capillaries. Hiro had never been held for very long in a cell, but he'd heard stories about torture and experimentation and it was his biggest fear that she had suffered until the end, but it eased his conscience to know that she looked as though she met a mercifully peaceful end.

Noah was perplexingly stoic. "Whenever you're ready." He quietly prompted his transporter. "Let's take her home so she can be with her husband again."

Hiro nodded solemnly. He remembered being greatly saddened by the death of his mother and much later his father, but it brought him comfort to know that they were finally together- side by side for all eternity. Maria loved Bryant more than anything else and he hoped it would bring them peace in the afterlife as well. It honored him to play a part in her return even if it was under false pretense in the middle of the night.


	21. Cry for Blood

**Chapter 21- Cry for Blood**

"_If we are marked to die, we are enough to do our country loss; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honor."_

_-William Shakespeare _

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The sun was just peaking over the horizon, shedding reds and oranges across the curvature of the earth's surface like spilling blood and the imagery was not lost on Sylar as he leaned on the railing of the balcony of the rustic cabin, squinting into his destiny. He knew that this was going to be his last day on the planet because if all went well, by nightfall he would be laying dead somewhere.

He wondered if prisoners on death row felt the same on their execution day, and really, he did have a lot in common with them. In the minds of the general public he was a criminal of epic proportion not just because of the people he had actually killed, but he had already been condemned for representing an end to homo sapiens as a branch of the evolutionary tree. It was mass extinction at a very slow pace, but everyone saw it coming and seemed to hold him solely responsible. They hated him for having a trait through no fault of his own- mostly- that he chose to capitalize on. It had indeed been a long and lonely road to achieve all that he had and it looked as though the rest of the journey was going to be even more daunting. As he exhaled heavily in the chilly morning air, he never felt so alone. He wanted people to mourn him, or at least not celebrate his death but he knew it could be no other way. No one outside of a select few could know the truth about what was scheduled to occur. If his death were to have any meaning at all, people had to believe the lie and that meant they had to be given the scapegoat who's blood they cried for.

"Coffee?" Damian quietly asked, holding a steaming mug out toward Sylar. "Thought you might need it after we've been up all night plotting." Sylar took the drink, but gave him a skeptical look. "Alright," the younger man caved with a bashful smile, "I'm used to handing out coffee in the morning. Old habits die hard."

"I see." Sylar smirked. Although it looked like Damian had put cream and presumably sugar in it, he was very particular about how he took his coffee and he doubted it was going to be to his liking, but he could tough it out and just enjoy the warmth of the liquid even if he had to ignore the taste.

"So." Damian sighed with a small shiver, unsure of what to say next. He really didn't know Sylar aside from what he'd read and heard and he was starting to see that it wasn't all entirely accurate, but there was an undeniable air of danger that surrounded him and he didn't want to seem as though he were prying.

Sylar turned toward him slightly and took a sip of his coffee, raising his eyebrow to prompt the shy man to continue. He could plainly see that he was unsure of himself and nervous, but since he started the so-called conversation, he was going to let him finish it and then decide if he wanted to participate. When nothing was immediately forthcoming, he rested his elbows on the railing and reminded, "Whatever it is you're going to say, keep in mind that I can tell if you're lying."

Damian seemed startled at the preemptive accusation. "I…I wasn't. The truth is, I can't think of anything to say."

"But you do have questions." Sylar stated emphatically. "Otherwise you wouldn't be standing out here freezing for no reason."

"Well, yeah. Of course I have questions, everything I thought I knew about the world was turned upside down a few days ago and I don't know what to make of it." He glanced furtively at the man next to him and frowned. "But now hardly seems the time to worry about myself."

Sylar scoffed and shook his head. "You have been spending entirely too much time around Peter."

"Is it really that unusual for people to be concerned about you? I mean, Jesus man! With what's about to happen to you, everyone with an ability should be lining up to ask how they can help."

"Yes," he quietly answered, "it is." Feeling that he had perhaps said too much, he gently smiled. "So, you're an idealist. The 'ask not what your country can do for you' type." With a light shrug he predicted, "Don't worry, you'll grow out of it."

Damian squinted in irritation at being patronized. "If you're not fighting this war because you believe you can make the country better a better place, what the hell have you been fighting for?"

"Me." Sylar said flatly. "I want _my_ world to be better and that can't happen while things like slavery exist. The course of the political flow of power can only be changed by two things: loss of profit or outright force. So long as there is a profit to be made, it won't stop no matter how outrageous the abuse or irrational the law. I thought you would have picked up on that working with Nathan."

"But how is sacrificing yourself making your world better?" He asked in disbelief. "Unless you are so miserable that dying is a better alternative." He had briefly been to that point himself once and he could understand how given the right set of circumstances it could be an attractive option.

Sylar looked into his mug with a sense of despair. There was a time when he did believe that suicide was his best option after he killed his first victim. If he thought he was a monster then, what would he have thought of himself if he could see what he had become? Finally he muttered, "It doesn't matter because perception is everything. People will go on with their lives believing that a great evil has been conquered. For them, tomorrow will be a brand new day."

"And you?" Damian cautiously inquired. "What will happen to you?"

Sylar turned his large, soft eyes to him and honestly replied, "I don't know." The truth was, he hadn't planned his life much beyond his death because he didn't have all of the factors with which to make a prediction. He trusted Peter insofar as he would watch him and eventually give his powers back, but the space between his death and then was a huge question mark. He simply didn't know what shape he'd be in or how long and under what conditions a recovery might take if there was a hiccup in the plan and Damian couldn't give energy and Peter wasn't immediately available to do it for him. It was a grim prospect, but he had to be realistic with himself that it was a possibility. "Maybe the better question is what will you do?" If he had to face his fate, he would feel better about it if it actually amounted to something for someone.

Damian gave a nervous laugh. "I guess I don't know either. Senator Petrelli hinted that I might get some help from you." Sylar looked at him sharply, prompting Damian to clarify. "I mean 'you' in a collective sense- all of you."

Sylar relaxed somewhat. He was starting to tire of Nathan making plans and promises on his behalf without his knowledge and expecting him to fulfill them without question or comment. "But he didn't outright say it."

"No," he answered with a frown, "I guess not." Nathan did once tell him that if it wasn't written or witnessed, it never happened…

"Then don't believe him." Sylar instructed. "Either he's lying or by 'help' he means locking you away in a dark cell somewhere under the pretense of rehabilitation. Exactly who is being helped should always be questioned, and the most likely answer is going to be him."

"Really?" Damian wrinkled his forehead. It just didn't seem like his boss to do such a thing, but he did indicate that there was a lot more that went on than he knew about.

"Really." Sylar confirmed. "At least that's been my experience. You can't trust a Petrelli."

Damian looked back at the cabin and shrugged. "Peter seems like an ok guy."

"He's the exception." He begrudgingly conceded, also looking back and wondering where the Boy Scout was. "The rest of the family is a ravenous pack of wolves." Even though he knew it was a lie, he still thought he and Peter were switched at birth because he fit in much better with the Petrellis while Peter should have been the one polishing damn snow globes.

"What about yours?" He asked trying to make conversation. When Sylar shot him a vicious questioning glare, he quickly explained. "I didn't mean that they were wolves, I just…I guess I haven't talked to my family in awhile. They don't even know I have an ability. Did you tell your family at first?"

Sylar took a moment to calm himself by finishing off his cold coffee and sidestepping the question with one of his own. "Do you plan on telling them?" He didn't think the kid was purposely trying to push his buttons, but the whole impending public lynching thing had him a little on edge and perhaps just a bit overly sensitive to personal questions- not that he would have answered him on any other given day.

"I guess." He shrugged. "I don't think it will make much of a difference to them, though."

Sylar swished the few drops that remained in the bottom of his cup in slow circles and wished he hadn't finished it so quickly. His voice was passive with just a hint of dark sadness as he commented, "That's nice." He wished that his own mother would have taken it so well instead of screaming that he was possessed by a devil through the locked bedroom door. He just wanted her to see how special he was… If she were alive, what would she think of her precious Gabriel now that he was made out to be the devil himself?

"Guys!" Peter called excitedly as he ran out onto the balcony without his coat. "Get in here, you have to see this!"

Damian and Sylar joined Peter in front of the television and watched as images of tanks and devastation filled the screen. Peter turned up the volume to better hear the dialogue. "The government today launched an offensive against rebel strongholds in an effort to locate Sylar. Acting on intelligence reports, troops have focused their efforts on migrant camps, believing him to be hiding among the tight knit group of specials. It is their hope that the pressure will lead to his turnover." The announcer was calm and dispassionate despite the footage showing graphic carnage of bodies and burning buildings. "In a joint statement released today, Senators Petrelli and McCaskey praised the efforts of the intelligence community, saying quote: We have received credible reports on the whereabouts of Sylar and we have acted swiftly to locate and capture him. It is our hope that he can be found and the conflict ended without further loss of life. We are committed to pursuing every lead until he is in custody and we appreciate the hard work and dedication of our intelligence teams in gathering information."

"Oh my god." Damian breathed in horror. "McCaskey wants all specials eradicated. I doubt there ever was an official report."

Peter sat glumly in his chair, defeated both by the images he saw and the fact that his family name was once again associated with distasteful practices and deceit. He would have changed his name long ago if it weren't such a hassle and it didn't feel like outright betrayal. His cell phone jumped and nearly danced off the table as it buzzed to alert him to incoming messages. He picked it up and read the screen with a frown before bolting to his feet.

"On call?" Sylar guessed darkly. He wondered if Peter had the same reaction the one time he sent him an urgent text message.

"Yeah, they need me out there." He growled half in anger and half in frustration. "They're getting slaughtered." Sylar gently nodded and picked up his coat from where he dropped it on the couch the night before, causing Peter to pause and look at him curiously. "Where are you going?"

"With you." Sylar quietly responded as he slipped it on. "You asked me to go with you when you went out because you needed someone to watch your back, remember?" The corner of his mouth curled ever so slightly into a hopeful smile. "I assume the offer still stands." In some small way he felt slightly obligated because he not only agreed to Peter's initial suggestion, but given the enormous service he was about to provide in the way of protection made him want to give him a reason to want to do it to the best of his ability. It was quid pro quo at its most basic.

Peter was stunned speechless. How or why Sylar remembered that particular moment was beyond him. It seemed so long ago that he had forgotten it entirely. "Yeah, but should you?" He asked hesitantly. "Things have changed a lot since then. They all have S2 now and if something happens to you out there, who will take over?"

Sylar cast his eyes to Damian as though he were unofficially promoting him in his absence. "He's just as good at strategy and he knows all of the plans. The fact that they have S2 is all the more reason I should go. What good will it do for you to fall over dead on your patient if you get shot?" His smirk faltered just a little. "Besides, if something does happen, it will just hasten Nathan's plans."

Sylar tried valiantly to pretend that it didn't bother him, but Peter knew better by the hopeless sadness that pervaded the space between them. The sense of dread and despair was entirely depressing and Peter wanted to reach out and try to offer some kind of comfort, but he didn't know how he could tell someone that being torn apart and put on display was going to be ok. His time as a hospice nurse taught him to accept death, but all of his patients died of terminal illness, not by needless political circumstance and he had no words for him other than a sincere, "If you still want to go, I'd feel better knowing you've got my back." He almost sighed with relief when the oppressive melancholy lifted somewhat at his invitation and his partner gave him a determined nod. "We have to make a stop first."

"Wait, what about me?" Damian asked nervously. "You can't just leave me here."

Sylar squinted his eyes and scoffed. "Of course we can."

"And we will." Peter added firmly. "You have no idea what you're asking, and it's too dangerous for you to be out there." He wanted to qualify his statement with 'unsupervised' but it sounded pejorative and Damian was probably already feeling like the runt of the litter.

Damian was irritated and showed his displeasure with a deep scowl. "Look," Sylar sighed patiently, "think of this in logical terms. If we take you, then the only three people who know the full set of plans are at risk of being captured or killed. Because of our abilities, Peter and I statistically have a better chance of returning, so the smart thing to do is to have you here in the unlikely event that both of us are eliminated so the show can still go on. We're just hedging our bets."

Peter was impressed with the way Sylar presented his immutable logic without being condescending. Personally, he would have just outright told Damian he didn't want him to go because he was inexperienced, but Sylar's explanation sounded much better. Apparently Damian thought so as well because he didn't argue. One quick stop to pick up Emma and one final stop at a familiar haunt that made them all uneasy.

Sylar moved carefully around the darkened basement amid the ransacked cabinets and glassware dusted for fingerprints in the lab of Maria's house. It all still felt so surreal that she was gone and that just a few days before he was laying on the floor with her next to him, offering forgiveness for his sins in exchange for his actions. He glanced uneasily at the cold, stainless steel table, remembering the circumstances that led to his resting on it, but also recalling the calm sense of safety that washed over him knowing that after months of enduring physical and mental punishment from the constant running, he could finally rest in the comfort she provided- comfort that he would never experience again, and a small twinge of guilt lodged itself in his mind like a shard of glass.

Emma was also in the basement to gather what medical supplies remained and she couldn't help but notice the way that Sylar moved so slowly and carefully around the space as though it were sacred in some way. Although the lighting was dim, he wore an unmistakable mask of sadness and his features were much softer than she'd seen before. Gone were the piercing eyes and brooding expressions and she couldn't imagine what would prompt such a drastic change in his demeanor. He obviously thought she was occupied and therefore oblivious to his unguarded moment, but she was very aware and a small part of her felt sorry for a man who appeared to be at a loss. Peter told her when he and Sylar came that Maria had been killed, but she couldn't have imagined that Sylar would be so affected by it, unless his careful movements were meant to hide any trace of his being there.

"Got everything?" Peter asked as he jogged down the steps. "We really shouldn't spend so much time here. The agents are gone, but who knows when they'll come back."

"Were you able to find any S1?" Sylar asked anxiously. The cabinets were stripped bare and all the chemicals confiscated, leaving little hope that any remained.

Peter smiled and produced one syringe from his pocket. "Maria had some in her desk drawer the first time she told me about it and I tested it. There's probably just enough here for what you need. I'll tell Mohinder to try and get the stuff he needs to make a little more just in case." He looked around the hastily gutted lab and frowned. "I don't think he's going to find much here." So much important work had been done in the lab, both on the biotech front as well as medical rescues and he was about to turn his back on it all. It was as though a door were closing on a very important part of his life and he couldn't help but feel a little despondent.

"We should probably go." Emma suggested meekly. She could tell that Peter was also upset in addition to Sylar and the idea of robbing a dead woman's home was staring to unsettle her as well. She was already nervous about her first foray into an active battle zone, but her current situation wasn't helping and she hoped it wasn't an omen of things to come, but it was.

Peter took them all directly to the center of a small city, but exactly where she couldn't tell. She stood in the middle of a rubble strewn street looking around her in shock at the damaged buildings and devastation while the air swirled with the brilliant colors of sounds mingling together in a reflection of the chaos that surrounded her. Down the street, a tank rolled toward them in a hazy cloud of deep burgundy, chewing up the pavement with its tracks while her very body vibrated with the low rumbling of the engine. The massive machine paused as the gunner repositioned the cannon and the most blinding flash of pure white light announced to her that they were being fired on.

The shell detonated in the small office building behind them with an impressive explosion. Both Sylar and Peter instinctively repelled the cascade of crumbled brick and glass shards with their telekinesis, protecting a stunned Emma in between them. "We have to get out of here." Peter unilaterally decided, hoping that Sylar's ears weren't ringing from the blast so as to render him nearly deaf. "Grab her hand and I'll get us to that building over there." He tossed his head toward a grocery store that was only partially decimated. They formed a human chain with Peter leading and providing a cover of invisibility and Sylar protecting them from stray bullets and flying debris from behind.

Inside, they found a small group of people huddling together, bleeding and obviously afraid for their lives. They looked ragged, starved, and tired. The siege had only lasted a few hours, but the inhabitants had likely been in hiding for quite some time prior to that, barely surviving. Peter looked around the store at the empty shelves and realized that it had been looted long before they got there. The only thing that remained was the putrid stench of the few remaining vegetables that were far too rotten to eat and the heavy and unmistakable scent of decay- the decay of dead bodies. At the back of the store where the refrigerated section was supposed to hold gallons of milk and packages of meat, bodies of the dead were stuffed into the deli cases and stacked on the floor when there was no more room. It might have been a fine solution were it not for the fact that the building's air conditioning system was destroyed at some point, leaving the dead to decompose at room temperature.

Peter wanted to retch. He had never quite faced death of that magnitude nor had he been in the presence of so many decomposing bodies, but he had a job to do and he couldn't afford to let his senses be overwhelmed and limit his ability to help those that he still could. He tapped Emma on the shoulder and gestured for her to follow him to the group of frightened strangers while Sylar remained at the entrance, solemnly on guard watching the chaos rage outside and trying to catch every fresh breeze that drifted his way. He was perhaps a little more accustomed to mass death than Peter was, his exposure having been earned in facilities by his own hand, but there was something about it all that was disturbing even to him. He may have been desensitized to loss of life, but he always made it a point to make his exit while the corpses were still fresh and warm and the bodies in the back were anything but.

Peter gently smiled as he approached the group slowly in an effort to let them know that his intentions were good and they had nothing to fear. "We're medical professionals," he announced gesturing to Emma, "we're with the rebellion and we're here to help. Does anyone need attention?"

"My baby!" A woman at the back of the throng cried as she clutched a small child desperately to her body. "Please help my baby." Tears streamed down her dirty face, but the light of hope burned bright in her eyes.

"Let me see." Peter nodded in acceptance, gesturing for her to hand the child over to him. He should have known by the way the small body was hopelessly limp that it was too late, but he felt as though he had to try for the distraught mother's sake. He placed the little boy in his lap and attempted CPR, but unseeing, unblinking eyes stared back at him- his brown irises nearly entirely engulfed by his blown black pupils, likely the result of his crushed skull. Blood trickled out of his left ear and it was a sure sign that he was dead. Peter gave the woman a deeply apologetic look and she fell to her knees in front of him, wailing and shrieking in her grief.

Sylar looked back and frowned. While he understood the woman's reaction on some level, her hysterical screaming would draw attention to them and the soldiers were closing in as it was. He once flipped an armored truck, but he wasn't so sure he could do the same to a tank. If she didn't quiet down he would soon find out. Perhaps misinterpreting his concerned expression with annoyance, the woman turned her fury on him. "You!" She yelled furiously. "You did this! You killed my son!" She lunged at him, but he put up his hand and held her at a distance with his telekinesis while he looked blankly at her. He didn't want to hurt her because she was completely irrational, but he was certainly going to protect himself from her misplaced rage until she came to her senses.

"He's trying to help us." Peter said softly, trying his best to mediate the situation. Sylar was showing remarkable restraint, but he didn't know how long his patience would hold. "He had nothing to do with your son's death."

"Yes he did!" She insisted, still struggling to break through Sylar's field and claw his eyes out. "The soldiers wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. We've all suffered because of you!" She seemed to run out of energy and began to sob uncontrollably. "My husband died two weeks ago in a raid and now our son." The hopeless pessimism and contempt was clear in her eyes as she asked him, "What have you done to help us? You haven't done anything but bring death and misery to every special and we have to suffer because you won't turn yourself in to end this. My son died for you so you can stand there breathing and not giving a damn about any of it! Are you happy? Is this what you wanted?"

Sylar glanced at the tiny, lifeless body that lie on the floor and at the crowd that seemed to be on the woman's side in blaming him for the entire war. Of course he never wanted any of it, but rather than waste his ill gotten breath and logic on explaining his position and rationale for all of the madness that raged outside, he just remained stoic and didn't respond. She and the others had already formed their opinions of him and nothing he could say or do would change it. Like so many others, it was easy for them to see him as a monster and he would simply let them believe what they wanted- he wouldn't fight it.

"Bastard!" She spat at him, forcing Peter to physically restrain her before she too joined her family in the afterlife. "It should be you that's dead instead of getting to bathe in the blood of innocents!" She cried as Peter drug her away.

Sylar slowly let his hand drop to his side and blinked as though he were in a daze. She had no idea that in a matter of hours she would soon get her wish.


	22. Marshaling the Troops

**A/N: Hello to Liz and queenoftheoutlands. Glad to see you're still here! **

**Chapter 22- Marshaling the Troops**

"_Who asks whether the enemy was defeated by strategy or valor?"_

_-Virgil _

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Noah sat wearily in the leather chair across from Nathan's desk. Dark circles underscored his fatigue from being up all night digging a grave, but he did what he had to do to give Maria at least a little dignity and peace. It wasn't pretty, but it was the best he could do on short notice and under the waning darkness that remained.

"Your coffee, Sir." Kelly yawned, handing Nathan his usual steaming mug that proclaimed 'If you like laws and sausages, you should never watch either being made.'

Nathan gave her a slight nod and observed, "Looks like you need some too. Didn't sleep much last night?"

"I came in early to manage the reports on the raids, remember?" She whined. "When's Damian coming back? I'm tired of doing his job." She didn't mean to sound so petulant in front of Noah, but she'd seen him so many times it was like an uncle visiting rather than some official business.

Nathan scoffed at her audacity. "He got shot twice, Kelly. He didn't exactly go off and join Cirque de Soleil and he's not going to rush to come back in here to stay up all night reading intelligence reports. Have a little heart."

Her face softened just a little. "He got shot?" She asked numbly. "I thought you said he was sick."

Nathan paused as he lifted the cup to his mouth, noting the slight look of caution on his company's face, "He is….kind of." He forgot exactly what he told her, but he had to be careful of slip-ups like that in the future.

"Jesus, is he ok?" She was genuinely concerned. She may not have ever considered getting to know Damian personally or hanging out with him in any capacity, but he did seem to be a reliable and trustworthy coworker.

"He's doing fine." Nathan assured her with a false smile. "He's staying with friends."

"Maybe we should get a card for him." She suggested sadly. "Something…"

"I think he'd like that. Pass it around, have everyone in the office sign it and I'll make sure he gets it. Now," he frowned, clearly signaling that it was time to get down to business, "anything important on the reports?"

"Not really. 5 encampments were targeted and several people were taken prisoner but so far, no one knows where Sylar is." She shook her head exasperated. "Either they won't give him up or the source was bad."

Nathan sat back in his overstuffed chair and sighed, "Probably the latter. If he was anywhere in the area, surely one person would have said that they seen him. He can't hide out there much longer. People will eventually turn him in if they think it will stop the raids."

"Too bad it won't." Kelly laughed as she headed for the door. "But please tell me that if he ever is caught that you can score tickets to his execution. I would work for you 24 hours a day for the next week for free if I can go."

Nathan forced himself to smile. "It would be a hot ticket." The very thought of it made him sick, but he knew that it would be a mobscene and in every main event there was money to be made. Selling tickets to Sylar's execution could potentially generate enough revenue to put a nice dent in paying off the national debt.

After she left, Noah cleared his throat. "How much do you think one could go for?" He smiled casually, brushing some imaginary lint from his pant leg. "Theoretically, of course."

"6 figures easily." He guessed. "Maybe 7 if you have someone rich enough you can sit in the front row with the possibility of getting his blood sprayed on them as he died." He threw his hands up in disgust. "Maybe we can just strap a bomb to his chest for maximum coverage."

"We haven't changed much from ancient Rome when the masses watched public executions for entertainment, have we?" He asked darkly. "Anyway, we have to give them what they want and apparently you and I are in charge of making a controlled crash landing."

"What do you mean?" Nathan asked cautiously. He made it a habit not to be too involved with any one aspect of the rebellion and it sounded as though he might be dragged in deeper than he cared to.

"I believe his exact words were 'quid pro quo,' but at any rate, he seems to believe that you owe him." The obvious 'I told you so' gleamed in his steely blue eyes behind the iconic glasses. "He wants to die by firing squad."

Nathan looked confused and partially horrified. "Do we even execute anyone like that anymore?" He had to admit, it was graphic, bloody, and dramatic- far more so than a quiet lethal injection and it would no doubt be a crowd pleaser.

"I think Oklahoma does, but it is traditionally used for high crimes and in times of war. He fits both." He shrugged lightly. "And of all the ways he could die, it's the most believable aside from running him through a meat grinder and dissolving the remains in acid."

The matter of fact tone Noah used gave Nathan the chills. It sounded just a little too certain for his liking as though he actually spent time figuring it out. "So he wants to be shot to death." He reiterated with a sigh. "I can probably arrange that."

"Good, because you'll have to also appoint the firing squad and the medical staff that will have access to his body afterward." He produced a list from his pocket and handed it to the wary senator. "And we have just the people in mind to fill the positions."

Nathan unfolded the paper and shook his head as he read the list of names. "Andrea Wilson, David Goldstein, Todd Burke…who are these people?"

"Never mind that," Noah advised with a cold smile, "just get them in."

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By early afternoon, the living room and kitchen of the small cabin was packed full. Claire, Mohinder, Ando, West, Hiro and Matt huddled around Damian, looking to him expectantly after they received word from Rebel to reassemble for further instruction.

"Right," Damian swallowed nervously, "so I guess I can explain this all to you until Peter and Sylar come back." He had no idea that anyone was coming and he only knew the cause of their arrival because they told him.

Claire gave him a polite, yet tense smile. "Where are they?" She didn't exactly trust Damian to lead them all into battle even if Sylar did green light the plan they were to follow.

"Sorry." Peter smiled nervously with Emma and Sylar in tow carrying large boxes. "We ran into a bit of trouble."

"What's in the boxes?" Ando asked curiously.

"We're going to play dress-up." Peter proclaimed, opening one of the boxes to remove black agent uniforms while Emma emptied nondescript fatigues from hers. "This plan is going to happen in two stages. The first involves all of us." He locked eyes with Emma and gave her a slightly guilty smile. "Except you."

The anger in her eyes was fierce. "Why?" She demanded. "I can help too, Peter. Don't let my disability…"

He put up his hands in surrender and chuckled. "It has nothing to do with that, Emma, I swear. You are going to be extremely important to the second stage of the plan." He paused to give her the sincerest expression he could muster and emphasized, "Extremely."

"So what are we doing, then?" West asked anxiously. Aside from Sylar's rescue, he had never really been involved in such a high level operation. In a way it made him sad that Luke had made the choices that he had; he would have loved it.

Sylar paced the room, handing out agent uniforms to Ando, West, and Damian, leaving one for Peter. "Some of you will be agents and some will be the rebels you are, but remember that we're all on the same side in this."

Matt took his rebel fatigues from Peter as did Claire, Mohinder, and Hiro. "I wanted to be an agent." He jokingly pouted.

Sylar gave him a taunting smirk. "They didn't have any in your size. Now presto changeo."

"What, you mean here?" Mohinder asked horrified at the thought of being nearly naked in front of people he knew all too well and some he didn't wish to know quite so well. "Now?"

"This from the culture that brought us the Kama Sutra." Sylar growled. "Unless you're a prude, get over it and save us some time."

It made for an awkward few moments, with people trying to suppress their most basic tendencies to look at novel exposed flesh- some doing a better job of it than others. Peter and Claire faced away from each other on account of them being related. It was just too strange for them and it felt remarkably like incest. Mohinder tried to use Matt as a blocking wall while he changed his pants, but the occasional bumps between them became more unsettling than the thought of others seeing him in his underwear. Although generally a modest man, Damian ceased giving a damn and just went about his business, but he did it a little too closely to Claire, which had West on guard. Unbeknownst to everyone in the room, Hiro temporarily froze time to change his clothes but no one seemed to notice that one second he was wearing street clothes and the next he was in uniform.

Emma and Sylar were the only two that remained dressed as they were. Through it all, Sylar forced himself to look at the floor to keep his eyes from drifting toward the only woman in the room who was briefly exposed and who didn't seem to care that she was in a room full of men while she did it. He never imagined Claire to be an exhibitionist, but he didn't have much time to think about it because Peter caught on and scowled at him. Busted. Peter's mood changed, however, when he realized that at the same time Emma was not so subtly checking him out and his cheeks flushed red.

"We will work in pairs," Sylar announced in an effort to dispel some of the unintended sexual tension that was building in the room, "and we will target four facilities while Rebel is coordinating similar attacks on smaller locations. They have already set up fake ID's for the agents in the system for us to get in."

"I see." Matt beamed, pleased to have at least a small influence on the master plan. "One of us, one of them. The same way we got into Virginia."

"Yes, but this time the agents won't be physically assaulting the prisoners." Sylar sneered. "The agent will turn in the rebel prisoner. Once inside, you will both take out the central command station in the basement. Use your abilities to get the job done- anyway you can." He was careful to emphasize his last statement because if anyone had any aversion to taking another's life, this was not the mission for them. "Maps of the facilities will be downloaded to your phones. Follow the maps- destroy the facilities. When you're done, you meet up for the second act."

As much as he didn't want to, Peter handed out the requisite hand guns and ammunition belts that agents wore. "Be careful with these," he advised solemnly, strapping his own gun holster to his right thigh, "these are loaded and the grenades are live."

"Holy shit." West muttered as he looked down at the arsenal he had attached to himself.

"Um….Peter," Mohinder politely interjected, "when you say 'loaded,' do you mean S2?" The thought of it worried him greatly. "Do we truly have live S2 bullets in these guns? Without the proper precautions…"

"We have no time for precautions. Just try not to use them and don't provoke anyone to use theirs."

Ando looked at his best friend, suddenly proud that he was chosen to be an agent. For once he felt powerful with his sleek black commando uniform and real weaponry while Hiro just had fatigues. "So, who are we working with?" He really hoped it was going to be Hiro so just once he could be the good guy- for a little while.

"Peter and Sylar are going to North Dakota. That's the primary target and for any of this to work, that location must go down." Damian explained. "West and Claire, you guys are going back to Virginia."

"Yes!" West smiled. "I can't wait to blow that place to bits." He rubbed his hands together eagerly in anticipation while Claire nodded in appreciation.

"Thought you might." Peter granted. "Ando, you and Matt will take care of Odessa and Damian and Mohinder will take out Sacramento."

Hiro looked around the room, confused. "What about me?" He asked a little hurt at the thought of being left out. "You said we all help."

"You do." Sylar promised. "You will be responsible for moving the teams in and out of position. During the mission, if any of them get into trouble, it's up to you to get them out." It sounded like important work, and he was satisfied with his assignment. He gave a firm nod and pushed his glasses up on his nose with purpose.

"Then why's he dressed up?" Claire asked knitting her brow.

"Phase II." Peter answered as he glanced at Sylar. "You'll all go over that when you get back. One thing at a time."

"Awesome." Matt grumbled nervously. He was tempted to read Sylar's thoughts to at least get a preview, but he was afraid of what he'd find milling around in the dark recesses. He could only imagine that Sylar's mind was something like a haunted house of horrors. Then again, he could also imagine it being nothing but darkness and the incessant, methodical ticking of a clock for all the emotion he ever displayed. Either was equally disturbing.

"Any last questions?" Sylar asked in a deep voice that indicated the finality and seriousness of the situation. When he received no response, he gave a curt nod. "Good luck then. Tonight is the last night of the war. By morning, all that we've endured and fought against will be a memory and we can live as we were meant to. Tomorrow will be a new day for everyone, but we have to make it happen tonight."

After Hiro began his journey to deposit the teams in their respective locations, Peter crossed his arms and gave a friendly lopsided smile to his former enemy. "You're a natural born leader, you know that?"

Sylar scoffed. "You mean a natural born killer. However, you are becoming a better liar. You didn't tell them the guns had regular ammunition in them when Mohinder asked."

"I didn't lie." Peter shrugged. "I didn't tell him they did have S2."

"But you didn't tell him they didn't, either." He challenged.

Peter laughed mischievously. "That's not what he asked, and it's not like they're going to shoot each other. That reminds me, though." He removed his gun from its holster and removed the clip while Sylar watched somberly. He retrieved the syringe of S1 from his jeans pocket and injected the suppressant onto the bullets in the clip, letting it coat each round before replacing the cartridge and pulling back the slide to reload it. "You know I'm going to have to shoot you a couple of times." He warned hesitantly.

"I know." Sylar quietly nodded, the sick feeling of fear and dread churning deep in his gut.

Emma had been following the conversation as much as she could, and although she missed bits and pieces, she clearly caught Peter's last words and she remembered that at Maria's house Sylar asked about S1. She could only imagine that's what Peter just poured into his gun. "Wait!" She declared as she approached them. "You're going to shoot him?" She asked pointing at Sylar. "If that's S1, he can't heal."

"Not as fast, but that's the plan." Peter confirmed.

She looked to Sylar gravely concerned and it was almost enough to make him look away in discomfort because it reminded him of Maria. "But you still can," she almost begged, "right?"

"Emma." Peter called, tapping her lightly on the shoulder to pull her attention away from Sylar. "Emma, there's something we have to tell you- about your part in the plan. Before you say anything, please just hear us out. It will work, we just need you to do your best acting because the world will be watching."


	23. Act I

**Chapter 23- Act I**

"_The object of war is not to die for your country, but to make the other bastard die for his."_

_-George S. Patton_

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Hiro dropped West and Claire into the same patch of woods that Peter, Matt, and Sylar had huddled in before their raid. Sylar's coat still lay in a heap by the tree where he dropped it, but they weren't about to touch it- they didn't know if it concealed explosives or who it belonged to.

Claire glanced over at West and frowned in irritation at his constant fidgeting. "Are you going to be able to do this?" She inquired testily. She knew this was his first big foray into true rebel operations and he was undoubtedly nervous at the prospect of taking down an entire facility, and if she was honest with herself she was too, but they had to keep their wits about them if they were going to pull it off. Both their teammates and specials all over the country and perhaps even the world were counting on them. If Sylar's plan could bring down operations in the US, then likely the rest of the world would follow like well stacked dominoes. It was a lot of responsibility, but never before had she felt so needed even if it was dangerous.

"Yeah," West bravely scoffed, "of course." He was terrified, but he wasn't about to let her know that. Although Sylar's plan did seem doable, it seemed doable for him- not necessarily for everyone else. Sure, he could just stroll into a locked down facility, do his business and walk away while the whole place went up in a mushroom cloud behind him, but it didn't mean that anyone else could. "Claire," he started hesitantly, as though he knew he shouldn't be giving voice to what he was thinking at a time like that, "if we don't make it out…" she gave him a disapproving look and he corrected himself, "if _I_ don't make it out, I want to die knowing the truth."

"About what?" She was not only irked by his timing, but his implication that he wouldn't survive. She would never leave him behind, didn't he know that?

West steeled himself. It was almost more frightening than going into the facility, but he was determined and he began slowly, "Was there ever… anything between you and…"

Claire's eyes narrowed as she waited for him to finish his accusation. She couldn't believe that she was having this conversation. His voice seemed to stick in his throat, so she tersely prompted him. "Who?"

"You know," he murmured uncomfortably, "S...Sy…"

She let a desperate laugh escape her lips as she sat back on her heels in shock. "Sylar? Are you serious?" She just couldn't stop laughing at the thought of it, even when he tried to quiet her for fear she would give them away before they even got started. The very notion of knowing him in a biblical way just made her skin crawl. When she was able to catch her breath, she informed him, "Not if he was the last man on earth. That's just gross…and wrong…on so many levels. There has never been anything but antagonism between us and there never will, unless he considered fondling my brain foreplay." She still remembered his face hovering over hers, her head nearly resting in his lap, the way his breathing became hurried and shallow from the knife lodged in his chest as he slowly bled to death, and his dark eyes- so focused and determined and yet there was just a hint of desperation and fear that he might die before he got what he came for. Despite it all, he was exceedingly gentle when he could have torn her apart for the sake of expediency, and she always wondered why he spared her all the trauma he could avoid even though doing so endangered his own fragile existence...

West seemed relieved that she confirmed Mohinder's theory. "Would you hate me if I told you I helped save his life?" He asked guiltily. "I mean, I know how much you hated him for what he did to you, but if you were there and seen him…"

Claire gave him a small, reassuring smile that warmed his heart. "You did what you thought was right. As much as I hate him- and I do- sometimes he does do good things. He let you go because I asked him to. Maybe it was because you did help him and he was returning the favor in his own weird way, I don't know why or how he decides these things, but I would like to think that just maybe sometimes he's still human and capable of being a hero." He was capable of mercy, he had shown it to her before when he saved her life. Maybe it was his way of apologizing to her for violating her, but he would never admit it and she would never ask, and so the battle of wills continued.

"Speaking of still being good, there was one more thing I wanted to ask you." He glanced sadly at the guard towers of the facility and thought all the people it held inside. "I know it wasn't part of the plan, but I want to try and find Luke if he's still here. Like Sylar, I think he just took a wrong turn but it's not too late for him."

Claire had no idea who Luke was, but it was clear that he meant a great deal to him. "I don't have to worry about a man crush, right?" She joked. "We can certainly try, but we can't risk failing our objective. That has to come first."

"Right." West nodded, straightening his grenade belt, being extra mindful not to accidently pull out a pin and detonate himself. Sylar did say to destroy the place by any means necessary, but that was ridiculous. "You ready?"

"Whatever you say, officer." She mocked looking him over. "You know, I think there's something to the whole man in uniform thing."

West smiled broadly and blushed. "Really?" He did feel like a different person with it on.

"Maybe you should keep it after we're done here." She suggested with a coy grin that made his heart stop. "You never know when you might need it again."

With the newly stoked confidence, West marched his handcuffed prisoner to the gate and flashed his fake ID to the guard without flinching. His heart did skip a beat when the guard seemed to scrutinize his credentials a little too closely, but he kept a straight face until he was given a curt, "Proceed, Officer Goldstein." He didn't get far before the guard shouted after him, "Happy Hanukah!" Bewildered, West turned and gave him a friendly wave as Claire giggled. If they had their way, it would be a happy holiday for all specials everywhere, but they had a few gifts to drop off in the basement first.

They walked the same lonely stretch of hallway that Matt, Sylar, and Peter did, careful to keep their heads down just in case they ran into anyone who might recognize them. West read the map on his phone and followed the directions carefully. It just wouldn't do to get lost at a time like that, but he was distracted by another agent walking his prisoner- one he couldn't help but stare at. Luke gave a congenial nod to Claire between furtive looks at West, hoping that she'd get the hint that he knew him without being so obvious about it.

West gave the other agent a friendly nod and asked, "Perp walking too, eh?"

"Nothing else I'd rather be doing around the holidays." The agent replied sarcastically before glancing around nervously. "Dude." He whispered. "I have to piss like a racehorse. Mind watching my freak while I'm gone?"

West couldn't believe his luck, but he tried to pretend the request really put him out, so he rolled his eyes. "Make it quick, man."

"Awesome. Don't worry about him, he's neutered." He laughed as he dashed down the hall presumably toward a bathroom- or a dark closet and bare wall…

After the agent was out of sight, West pushed his prisoners toward the elevator that was at the end of the hall in a mad dash. "What the hell are you doing?" Luke asked in a panic. "The exit's the other way!"

"We'll get there." Claire promised as the doors closed and her heart pounded with excitement. She held her hands out so West could unchain her. "We just have to make a little stop first."

"What are we doing?" He asked, also holding out his hands to be unbound.

"We?" West asked incredulously. "You mean you want in on it too?"

Luke's eyes hardened a little and he let his hands fall. "Don't be a dick, West. You won, ok? You were right. Does it make you feel better knowing I got the shit kicked out of me while you and your girlfriend are running around playing commando?"

West reached out and grabbed his wrist to unlock the cuffs. "It doesn't make me happy, but if that's what it took for you to see what I was talking about all along, then I guess it's what had to happen." After an awkward moment of silence, he quietly continued. "You know, I was going to come for you anyway. I couldn't leave you here knowing what they would do." He looked his battered friend up and down and shook his head. "I'm just sorry I didn't come sooner."

The elevator doors opened into the brightly lit basement with all of the computer servers quietly humming along, crunching data. West again tended to his phone and called for Hiro to come get them. None of their respective abilities were sufficient to destroy the machines or make a timely escape without him. It seemed only seconds later that he appeared, smiling in his fatigues, ready to serve. West handed out his grenades among the group. "Alright," he looked nervously at the explosive in his hand, "on the count of 3, pull your pins and toss them at the servers. Ready?" He looked around at his compatriots and made certain that they were all on the same page. If it went wrong, only Claire and perhaps Hiro would survive if he could teleport away fast enough. "1…2…3!"

The grenades rolled across the concrete floor with a tinkling sound and they watched the fireball blow out the lower windows from the safety of the woods where Hiro had deposited them. They all smiled at the sight of the facility in flames and hoped that Carter was inside.

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Across the country, Damian and Mohinder watched the last remnants of the sun fade over the west coast from the safety of a nearby parking garage. For the past few minutes, Damian tried not to notice the proximity of the scientist or the way he seemed to be staring at him curiously. His eyes nervously darted back and forth between the concrete pillar just off to Mohinder's left and the horizon until he felt he had exceeded the time limit for politeness. "Is everything ok?" He asked timidly. He couldn't say that Mohinder was necessarily leering at him, but he was definitely making more scrutinizing eye contact than was socially acceptable for two people who didn't really know one another.

Mohinder gave him an easy smile, perhaps realizing that he was being rude. "I'm sorry, my friend, but you just look so remarkably like someone else I know."

His friendly tone did anything but put him at ease. It was almost as though the someone he was referring to was of the intimate sort. Damian knew that high intensity situations sometimes created sexual tension, but he wasn't sure how he should tell his partner that he wasn't really his _partner_ in that sense. "Hmmm." He crinkled his eyebrows. "That's…odd…I guess."

"I shouldn't say you look remarkably like him, but you could pass for a cousin or such." He shrugged. "Let's just hope your genetic distribution does not extend to his psychological makeup."

If it was meant to be a pickup line, it was one of the worst he'd ever heard. He painfully stretched his sore shoulder and narrowed his eyes as it dawned on him. "Are you talking about Sylar?" He asked suspiciously. He remembered sitting on Maria's counter and having people stare at him with a peculiar half recognition- including Sylar himself. In his own estimation, he resembled him only slightly and they were otherwise incomparable.

Mohinder gave an embarrassed smile, but it quickly faded when he noticed the tense pain etched in his partner's face. "Will you be alright?" He asked concerned. "Perhaps we should have made alternate plans."

"It's fine." Damian mumbled. It was bad enough he was the new guy, he didn't want to be the weak link as well. He just hoped he wouldn't have to run or do cartwheels- that could prove to be problematic. "Have…have you ever done anything like this before?" He inquired, still gently massaging his shoulder in the hopes that he could coax it into being at least partially functional.

"More so than I care to admit." He laughed. "Although never of my own volition. I always seem to become ensnared in the plans of others against my better judgment." After the last vestiges of daylight slipped below the horizon, he politely asked, "Shall we?"

It was easy for Damian to look pissed off and be slightly irritable due to the discomfort he felt in his thigh just from walking and he was thankful that his uniform was black- if he started bleeding, no one would notice. He was equally thankful that he was right handed and his holster was therefore strapped to his right leg. The chafing sensation of the weapon against his wound would have been almost unbearable if he were left handed like his doppelganger. The unnatural weight of the loaded gun hung heavily on his body and it was not only uncomfortable in the physical sense. He wasn't a violent person, and to have a deadly weapon at his disposal that he just might have to actually use made him uneasy. To the agents at the facility, he just appeared to be another world weary cop doing his job, but not necessarily loving it. He fit in perfectly.

Mohinder's meek disposition made him equally suited to his prisoner role. He didn't appear to be dangerous in the slightest, and for the most part the other agents never even gave him a second glance as they went about their business, confident that the bored looking agent that marched him down the hall had him well in hand. In truth, Damian was anything but bored as he concentrated intensely to recall the map he had memorized. He could have pulled out Mohinder's phone that he carried in one of the cargo pouches in his bulletproof vest, but that would have looked perhaps a little too casual and he didn't want to arouse suspicion.

They got on at the appointed elevator only to find it full of other agents. Damian froze momentarily, debating if he should get on or wait for the next one, but a lovely young agent held the door for them. With an approving smile in Damian's direction, she waved them in. "There's plenty of room." She invited, "Get on."

Damian reluctantly pushed Mohinder forward and crammed onto the already packed elevator. He looked at the button panel and noticed that someone was exiting at Level 5- the last holding floor before the basement. He couldn't very well explain why he was taking a prisoner to a non-holding area and he didn't want to also get off on Level 5, so he reached past Mohinder and pushed a random button that no one else had chosen in the hopes that no one would follow him. As the lift descended, the friendly agent bumped into him several times under the guise of an accident and smiled coyly at him after one of her 'accidents' nearly qualified as sexual assault. He gave her a quick, nervous smile and prayed for the lift to go faster. It was unfortunate that at that same moment, Mohinder glanced back at him with a startled expression. Unbeknownst to either of them, the mischievous agent had also groped the scientist and the result was a great misunderstanding between Damian and his prisoner. Mohinder turned just in time to see him grin and blush. It wasn't as if it were an innocent or even surreptitious attempt at flirting- it was an outright, firm ass grab and Mohinder was baffled. He didn't recall agreeing to be molested as part of the plan.

Damian nearly smashed Mohinder through the first crack that appeared in the doors as their turn came to get off. Apparently the other occupants of the elevator were privy to the joke and they all began laughing, he could hear them well after the carriage departed. Mohinder wasn't so sure he wanted to be left alone with his captor, and he gave him a sour look. "You certainly are direct, I'll give you that." He mused looking around at the desolate hallway marked with a large "3". With the dimness of the hall, it was hard to tell if the cells were occupied or not, but he thought it best not to look too closely.

"What are you talking about?" Damian asked, still flustered at being felt up. He pushed the elevator button rapidly in irritation. It certainly wasn't the first time for him, but it didn't make it any more pleasant. Living in New York and taking public transportation exposed one to any number of sexual deviants and he had been involuntarily examined by women and men alike on more than one occasion. There were even a few times when the perpetrator's gender couldn't be reliably discerned. Sometimes it was best not to think too much about it.

Mohinder was incensed. He had the temerity to grab him and then deny it? "All I'm saying is that perhaps this time I prefer not to be in front of you." He replied tersely. "Or if you insist on that arrangement, you can be all the way in the back." He thought- 'While I press myself against the doors as much as physically possible…facing you.'

Damian sighed as he shook his head. If Mohinder had some kind of claustrophobia issue, he might have brought it up beforehand. Although confined spaces didn't particularly bother him, he could sympathize with others that found it frightening and Mohinder did seem slightly panicked. Luckily, the next elevator was empty, so he could give him all the space he needed and he curled up tightly in one corner so he could have the balance of the available space to himself.

A small smirk curled on Damian's lips at the sight of the racks of servers in the basement, making Mohinder cringe a bit at the familiarity of the gesture. "How do we know which to destroy?" He asked in wonder, taking in the rows upon rows of blinking lights and cables. "There must be hundreds of them."

Damian's smile grew wider. For once he felt a sense of certitude and his hard work doing side jobs to get through school was finally paying off. "It doesn't matter. We shut them all down."

Mohinder laughed. "Look at how many there are! Do you realize how long that would take?"

"About 10 seconds." He answered, looking to the ceiling. "All of the power cables should be bundled into one or two ropes and plugged into a generator to keep them running even if the electricity goes out. We just have to find it and pull the plug." It didn't take long for Damian to trace the cables from each rack to the back of the room where just as he predicted, the bundled mass was connected to an immense generator that hummed with an astounding amount of power. Mohinder immediately seized upon the lifeblood of the computers. "What are you doing?"

"We can't simply unplug it." He patiently reminded his partner. "What will stop them from coming down here with a flashlight as though they were fixing a broken fuse and plugging it all back in? We were sent here to destroy it, were we not?" With a small smile, he added, "Well, that's where my ability comes in quite handy. It will take them a good amount of time to repair the damage I can create."

Damian watched in stunned amazement as Mohinder removed the bundle from its power source and literally shredded the wires with his bare hands, making a multicolored wire fiesta. The amount of tensile strength that it must have required boggled Damian's mind, but Mohinder didn't seem to be taxed by the effort in the slightest. When he was finished with the cables, he ran down the rows like a madman, raking his hands down each rack causing bits of plastic and internal circuitry to fly all over the room from the destroyed blades. Damian let him go on, apparently it was something of a cathartic experience and he seemed to be enjoying it. More shocking than his brute strength was the fact that he seemed so unassuming otherwise. He never could have guessed that the mild mannered, soft spoken geneticist had the ability to crush his skull with one hand if he so desired. At the end of it all, Mohinder was left smiling and panting, a light sheen of sweat making his dark curls cling to his forehead and temples. What was more, his aura didn't seem at all diminished by his exertion. In fact, it was brighter than it had been previously despite his bloodied hands, cut by jagged plastic and metal.

Damian looked around at the utter devastation and nodded approvingly. "That will just about do it, I think."

"I agree." Mohinder laughed. "Now let's get out of here before they come running. Surely they know that the system is offline by now."

It was exactly what Damian was dreading. With the systems down, the elevators had stopped working so he was looking up 12 flights of stairs to freedom with an injured leg and a need for expediency. He took a deep breath, resolved to ignore the intense pain he knew was on the way, and sprinted up the stairs two and three at a time. He made it to the fourth landing before he passed out and collapsed. Mohinder turned back for him, and his heart sank when he realized that the dark cloth by his left knee was warm and sticky. Several floors above, he could hear the steady pounding of boots from approaching agents echoing down the stairwell in a rumble. He hastily drug Damian through the exit door and back into the hallway of Level 3, waiting both for him to wake up and for the hoard to pass.

Damian's hazy blue eyes slowly fluttered and opened after a few minutes and he winced in pain. He didn't need to look at his leg to know that something was seriously wrong. "Hold still." Mohinder instructed him as he removed the gun holster from Damian's right leg and moved it to his left. He then tore a small strip of his shirt off and folded it into a neat square to place over his wound. "This may hurt a bit." He warned as he laid the holster strap over the bandage and pulled tight to create pressure in an effort to stop the bleeding.

Damian grunted and bared his teeth, but otherwise took it well. He was grateful that Mohinder was a fast thinker, but he was a bit worried that his impromptu medic was also bleeding. As he lay there waiting for the throbbing to subside, he found himself becoming angry at the men who shot him. If he were injured during the mission, he wouldn't have been so upset but as it was, they not only unintentionally outed him as a special by attacking him, but they also impeded his efforts at obtaining his ultimate freedom. It seemed that they just kept winning even in death.

Mohinder helped Damian slowly stand and supported him while he fought off a bout of dizziness. He looked to his compatriot concerned. "Will you be able to walk?" He had his doubts no matter what his answer was.

"I'll have to." He replied hopelessly before looking to him with sad yet determined eyes. "Or you could leave me here." Just because he couldn't make it didn't mean he should doom his partner.

Mohinder seemed insulted. "I'm not leaving you here. That's simply out of the question aside from being entirely unnecessary." He scolded, scooping him up and tossing him over his shoulder like a ragdoll. Suddenly, Damian found himself looking at the world upside down and as undignified as it was, it was a better solution than being left for dead. He just wasn't used to being manhandled like that and he didn't see it as something he could get used to.

Mohinder waited for the stairwell to clear before dashing up the many flights of stairs with speed and power that would have made a gazelle envious until they were out of the facility and at the rendezvous point where they were to meet up with Hiro. He was reminded of running through the dark, damp woods carrying Sylar's broken body while he dodged trees and he was grateful that his ability could again find a higher purpose than simple destruction. It was the strangest thing, however, that every time an agent attempted to stop them, they mysteriously dropped where they stood as though they simply blinked out of existence…


	24. Act II

**A/N: mel, johncorn, OneofJennifer- you guys rock for letting me know you're still around. I was starting to get lonely…Cheers for the inspiration!**

**Chapter 24- Act II**

"_He is the best man who, when making his plans, fears and reflects on everything that can happen to him, but in the moment of action is bold."_

_-Herodotus_

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Ando couldn't help but look around himself with a bored sense of déjà vu. Oddly, no one appeared to think anything of either he or Matt dressed as they were sitting with each other at the small table in the Burnt Toast Diner. The Odessa facility no doubt employed hundreds of people and Texas did have liberal gun laws, so he and his loaded weapon were permitted without comment. Matt, in his nondescript fatigues, was probably thought of as his hunting buddy and nothing more. A very hungry hunter…

"Man," Matt mumbled with his mouth full, "this place is pretty good. How did you know about a little hole in the wall place like this?"

Ando smiled patiently at his rude manners and sipped his coffee while he glanced nervously at the table by the window- the one where Sylar sat in the shadows laying in wait for poor Charlie wearing his black baseball hat. Her picture still hung on the wall, with a sad looking Hiro at her birthday party. "It had good ratings on Yelp." He shrugged. There were just too many bad memories in the place for his liking and it killed his appetite. He looked down at his cup suspiciously. What if it was the same one Sylar used? Although it logically would have been washed hundreds of times since his visit, the very thought of it made him queasy as if traces of his evil could still somehow permeate the vessel, stubbornly immune to boiling hot water and sterile sanitizer.

"It's about time." Matt announced, glancing out the painted windows at the dark sky beyond. "We should probably get going. I just want to get this over with." His last foray into the belly of the beast didn't end so well. What should have been an in and out mission resulted in him franticly ducking and running to avoid eating hot lead. At least he was more successful than Peter in that respect. He did get to take out some long pent up frustration on Sylar, and Peter ended up pulling through despite the odds, so all in all it wasn't half bad considering. After Ando kindly footed the bill, they walked out into the cool night air toward the facility and he looked at his companion curiously. "Why didn't you stay in Canada?"

Ando was stunned by the seemingly random question and he laughed nervously. "What?"

"C'mon, man. You were right there with us, you knew what it was like here. You got lucky and had it made. You could have just stayed up there and enjoyed your freedom. Why the hell would you give that up and jump back into this mess?" He chuckled. It seemed like insanity to him.

Ando smiled softly. "I ask myself that too." He admitted. "But I couldn't enjoy it knowing that you and everyone else I have come to know were still stuck in the system. I didn't want to fight, but I couldn't stand by and watch you all being destroyed either. What good is my freedom if your blood paid for it and I did nothing to earn it? There's no honor in that."

Matt shook his head. "You're friggin' nuts, but you're a good man, Ando. I'm glad you did come back."

"Really?" He asked hopefully. People seemed to gravitate towards Hiro's enthusiasm and he was often overlooked, but it felt nice to be recognized for his own attributes.

"Sure." He proclaimed, giving him a mighty swat on the back that sent him stumbling, "When this is all over, we'll go out for a beer- as free men."

"And look for women!" He added cheerily. The free kind was preferable to paid ones…

Matt didn't seem so sure. "I've had enough of them for awhile, but I guess I could be your wingman. I could make you look good." He let out a genuine laugh and added, "Or at least make them think you do."

After a hearty chuckle, Ando narrowed his eyes and asked a question of his own. "Have you ever thought about using your ability to make Sylar less…boogeyman?" It might not have been a great description, but everyone would be better off if the killer were a little more boring. "Can you make him think he doesn't have powers or something?" Even though he was still menacing without them, he was at least manageable.

Matt scratched his head and frowned. "I don't know, but I don't think I could make it work on him- at least not entirely, not with that lie detector thingy. Besides, he's pretty certain about things. He doesn't think about stuff the way ordinary people do, he _knows_ it. That makes it harder."

"It was worth a try." Ando sighed, removing his handcuffs from his vest to take his prisoner in and he motioned for Matt to turn around.

He paused before complying. It just felt unnatural to allow himself to be subdued in that way and he thought of Sylar's reaction to being cuffed. Although he was never in any real danger, he could understand why he detested it even if insult was added to injury because Matt was the one to do it to him. Ando had the courtesy to leave them as loose as he could, but it still felt remarkably confining and he tried his best to ignore the pinching sensation of the cold metal on his larger wrists as they walked to the guarded gate. Matt took in the barbed wire fence and the foreboding feeling the entire building gave off- efficient, clean, and tidy. Those were not necessarily good things when you were dealing with deciding people's lives. "Did you know that Texas has consistently had the highest execution rate since the 1600's?" He mused. Some of the things he learned as a police cadet stuck with him, and that was one little factoid he wished he didn't recall at that moment.

Ando observed the sterile exterior of the imposing building and imagined what went on inside. "I'll bet China holds the world record. They put thousands to death every year." It may not have been as comforting as he intended, but at least they weren't in the worst possible situation. He always tried to look on the bright side of things as much as was rational.

The guard at the gate frowned as she checked Ando's credentials against the records in her computer in her little guardhouse. "That's odd." She frowned as she clicked through several screens. "You're not in the system, Officer Smith." She handed his ID back to him and looked him over skeptically. "Smith is a pretty unusual name for an Asian guy."

Ando snatched his ID back, feigning outrage. "That's racist." He charged, thinking as quickly as he could. "My mother was Japanese and my father was American. I came to my father's homeland to make a better life for myself and this is what I get! Where's your supervisor? I want them to know what you said."

"I didn't mean anything by it," she stammered, "really. It was a stupid thing to say. I'm sorry. Please don't report me." Her eyes were pleading. "Please, sir. I have three kids at home. I need this job."

Ando's eyes softened somewhat. He could see that she was sincere and he didn't want to be responsible for the starvation of three children if he made their mom lose her job. "Fine." He nodded. "Let me through and we'll forget this ever happened."

She seemed hesitant to break protocol. "But…" her eyes glazed slightly when Matt tilted his head, "ok. I'll let you in, but this is our little secret." Her voice was oddly monotone as though she weren't even aware of what she was saying, and she numbly pressed the button for the gate to open and admit them.

"I could have handled it." Ando groused as they entered the facility and headed to the end of the hallway.

"Probably." Matt agreed easily. "But we have a schedule to keep and I was starting to freeze my ass off out there." Thankfully, the basement was warmer from the heat of the machines and he was almost reluctant to destroy them and go back out into the cold. He actually wanted to hug a rack just to siphon off the gentle radiating warmth and smile with pleasure, but he realized that it might look like some kind of a bizarre tech fetish so he refrained.

Ando fired up his pink energy and reached out to electrocute the first row of equipment when the lights switched to a deep red and alarms began blaring. He instinctively jerked back and looked at Matt with a panicked expression. Was someone watching them?

"Hurry!" Mat commanded, gesturing toward the servers. "Do your thing before they get here!"

Once again, he summoned up his ability and placed his hands on the metal frames, sending the pulsating pink energy across the racks like a supercharged poison to short circuit the computers. Sparks flew and arced like a fireworks show and the air filled with smoke and the smell of melting wire. Ando moved from bay to bay as quickly as he could while Matt held the agents off by concentrating hard and confusing their minds to such a degree that they hardly knew where they were, let alone what they were meant to be doing. He didn't know exactly how many there were, but he didn't have the time or ability to discriminate friend from foe. Anyone within a two floor radius was subjected to his mind control and it was tiring, but it became infinitely easier when Ando split his efforts and gave Matt a little boost- supercharging and amplifying his ability while he finished frying the electronics well beyond any hope of salvage with his other hand. He was careful to modulate the amount of power he was lending Matt least he literally blow the minds of every living being in the western region of the country. He didn't know if that was actually possible, but he didn't want to be responsible for such wanton devastation if it was.

Calling the mission a success, Matt removed his phone from his pocket to summon Hiro while the agents milled around in a stupor one floor above. He coughed heavily from the accumulated smoke and his eyes began to water, but he couldn't miss the beaming smile on Ando's face. "Whadda say we go get a beer?" He choked out between hacks.

"I could use one." Ando wheezed as he wafted the noxious air from his face. "Maybe two."

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Sylar wrapped his arms tightly around himself and shivered violently. He squinted at Peter through the sheer, frigid wind that blew the heavy snow directly into his face and all around them. It had to have been -20 degrees or more and it was only because they retained the ability to regenerate that neither had dropped dead from hypothermia or lost extremities to frost bite. Even so, he hadn't felt his nose or fingers for well over 45 minutes and he had to look down at his hands to verify that they were indeed still there. He found himself wishing that he still had Ted Sprague's thermonuclear ability. He would have set his entire body alight just to keep warm, consequences be damned.

Peter shielded the screen of his phone with his hand as best he could to read the steady updates from Rebel of each facility as it fell and a slow smile crept across his face despite the miserable conditions. All across the country, facilities big and small were falling like dominoes. The grand mission was not without casualties, and that did put a damper on his joy, but deep down he knew that for the plan to be a success, some sacrifices would have to be made. It didn't make it any easier for him to accept, but that was the reality of it.

"Are we good?" Sylar asked, his teeth nearly chattering in the extreme cold. The wet snow clung to his thick eyebrows like frosting, but he wasn't about to keep wiping his face and lose what precious little body heat he managed to hold tightly.

Even though he tried to appear disaffected, Peter knew that he was just as anxious about the outcome as he was. He put a lot of time, effort, and staked his very reputation on the design, so he could act as casual as he wanted, but they both knew that he was fully vested in the course of events that played out. "Yeah." He nodded, sending a stream of melted snow water running in a rivulet from his scalp and down the side of his face. "Odessa just went down. That was the last one we were waiting on."

Sylar was conflicted. On the one hand, it meant that three of the biggest facilities had fallen in successful raids. On the other, it meant he had only a short time to destroy the last remaining target and hasten his own demise. Regardless, there was no backing out now and there was no changing the plan. His eyes hardened with resolve, yet remained just a bit apprehensive. "You should go then." He said quietly as he cast his gaze to the snowy ground. "If there are any operational facilities left, we don't want them transferring service to it."

Peter tucked away his phone with a heavy sigh. The finality of the whole enterprise was not lost on him either, and he wanted to say something…anything. "Sylar, I…"

"Don't." He growled, holding up his hand to silence him. He didn't need Peter's sympathy, he needed him to tow the line. "Just go."

Peter felt deflated that he was so summarily rejected, but he tried not to take it personally. Sylar just dealt with things differently than he did and he hoped that even if he couldn't express his feelings so openly, Sylar would at least understand that he wasn't alone in all of it. He would be there for him, he promised him he would and he intended on following through no matter what it took. "Alright." He conceded in a sad tone. "Good luck, then." Even though he didn't get a response, he could feel the weight of Sylar's stare on his back as he trekked across the open field toward the warm lights of the facility.

The guard on duty automatically opened the gate for Peter to pass without even checking his ID or bothering to ask why he was walking in a blizzard when it was the only building for miles. Apparently, he thought it was too damn cold to be bothered with such things and he continued watching his camera monitors with a bored yawn. After Peter passed, he glanced back and discovered that the guard was not watching the camera feeds at all- instead it appeared that he was watching a movie on his tablet computer. Damian said the facility had a hard time filling the hiring quota, but were they really that desperate?

The heavy steel door to the facility slammed shut behind him and he shook himself and tried to wipe the excess moisture from his vest and hair. Perhaps it would have been smart of them to check the weather forecast before they departed, but it was too late for that. The hallway was just as stark and empty as he remembered it. The facilities were perfectly identical and if he didn't know better he would have sworn that he was in Virginia all over again. His wet boots made an irritating squeaking sound as he walked on the linoleum tiled floor toward the elevator. This time, he wouldn't be confused by the odd numbering of the floors, but he wasn't going down anyway. His plans differed from the other team's and he casually strolled the floors in search of someone, anyone to introduce himself to but he was met with a mostly empty facility. It seemed that not only did the facility only have a third of the required staff, but half of those had called in because of the weather. Mother Nature was unwittingly aiding the rebellion.

Finally, on the top floor of the building he found two agents playing cards in a stairwell. Rather than being alarmed that they were caught doing something they shouldn't be, they regarded him with a sense of boredom. "Can we help you?" One of the men asked lightly as he looked over his cards.

Peter tried not to smile, but he couldn't help it. Under normal circumstances, people would be afraid of reprimand, but the agents knew they wouldn't be fired. The facility needed all the warm bodies it could find. "Officer Todd Burke." He extended his hand to shake, but the other guard just looked at him contemptuously as if he were put out by having his card game delayed.

"You new, Burke?" The other man laughed. "Pretty much all you need to know is that the lunch room is on the main level, the freaks on 5 are fun to play with, and this spot is taken."

Even though he suspected he knew the answer, he played along. "What do you mean they're fun to play with?"

They both chuckled maliciously. "They're good for a lot of things. See, most of them are neutered…"

"Or spayed," his companion interjected as he rearranged his cards, "we're equal opportunity here."

"…and lucky for us, they're usually tied down. Still, once in awhile you have to go down there and remind them who's in charge. Sometimes you just fuck with them."

"Literally, if you want." His partner added with a shrug. "Women, men, whatever you're into. No one cares." He sighed and reiterated, "Equal opportunity."

Peter felt his blood boil. "I'm not new." He informed them in a harsh tone. "I'm here on direct orders from Senator Nathan Petrelli to tell you to get off your asses, because Sylar might be on his way."

The men dropped their cards. "Here?"

"Yeah," he confirmed with a stern squint, "while you guys were up here playing with yourselves, facilities all over the country have been imploding. I was sent here to capture him."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" One of the agents laughed, "Chuck Norris? No one can take him down."

"Seriously, if he's coming here he can have the place. I'm going home." The other agreed. "This job doesn't pay nearly enough for that shit."

"If he shows, I'll get him." Peter vowed. "He can't stop me if he can't see me."

"Are you high, dude? Meth? PCP?" He guessed with a knowing grin.

Peter was growing irritated. They were almost too stupid for their own good. "I'm not a tweaker, I'm a special." He faded into thin air, leaving the guards looking around baffled. He reappeared and was satisfied he had their full attention. "I'm with a program called the Chimera Project. It's specials like me who are tired of putting up with Sylar's bullshit. We are going to capture him and put an end to this war."

"So you work with Stephanie Carter?" One of the men asked. "She was here yesterday recruiting people for that project." Peter blinked in surprise. Could it possibly be the same Carter that came to Maria's house?

"No man," his friend chuckled, "he said he worked for a senator."

Peter didn't get a chance to answer. The facility went on high alert, and all employees were ordered to meet on the main level. "It's him!" He declared as he started down the stairs toward the fray. "C'mon!"

"Dude," one agent laughed, "maybe you're invisible, but he can see my ass and I told you I'm not paid enough to take him on, so good luck with that."

Peter shook his head in disgust and continued to the main level where a small gathering of agents surrounded the elevator at the end of the hallway, guns drawn and ready to fire the second the doors opened. Peter sidled up to one tense middle aged woman and quietly whispered, "What's going on?"

"Sylar." She replied grimly. "He went down the elevator, no doubt to let everyone on 5 out. He has to come back this way if he wants to leave the building."

"Are you sure it's him?" He queried.

"Knocked the whole damn fence down with a flick of his wrist and strolled on in like it was Sunday morning in the park."

It probably wasn't his usual style, but he certainly did know how to draw a crowd. "You stay here. I'll get him from behind." He instructed the group. He could tell they thought he was crazy and rather than take the time to explain, he simply disappeared and enjoyed the shocked looks on their faces. "Pretend that you don't know when he gets here." His disembodied voice drifted down the hall.

The building lights dimmed as Sylar destroyed the basement equipment, leaving the area bathed in a blood red glare of emergency lights. After several tense minutes, the sound of his heavy boots slowly striding up the stairwell echoed like gunshots. He could have used his telekinesis to float silently, but there was no fun in that- he wanted to announce his arrival. As soon as he opened the exit door to the hallway, he was met with a hail of bullets. He had expected as much and was quick to put his hand up not only to protect himself, but also to keep Peter from being shot. He couldn't see him, but he knew he was there by the look of vindication on the faces of the agents who wanted to riddle him with holes. It would still happen, it just wouldn't be them who had the pleasure.

It was no honor for Peter, but it was his duty. He rematerialized with his weapon drawn and trained on Sylar. "Give it up." He warned. "It's over."

Sylar slowly closed his dark eyes and took a deep breath to prepare himself for the inevitable. Still holding the S2 ammunition at bay, he turned toward Peter and raised his other hand as though he were going to lash out with one of his many abilities and Peter took his cue, quickly squeezing off four rounds directly into his body with an unusual amount of focused determination. The ammunition fell to the floor in a chorus like tinkling bells and Sylar stumbled backward, clutching his midsection while drops of blood began staining the white linoleum floor. The pain was incredible and he coughed in shock, but Peter had aimed well and found his mark.

"Get down!" Peter yelled as he advanced on him with his gun still drawn. "Down on the ground!" Sylar fell to his knees, dizzy with pain and ungracefully collapsed on his face. Peter holstered his gun and rushed to him, worried that despite his best efforts not to, he had accidently hit a major organ. "Where's your infirmary?" He asked the crowd.

Baffled, the woman he spoke with replied, "You just shot him. Now you want to save him?"

"Yeah." Another piped up. "Just finish him off already. One to the back of the head and you're a hero!"

The rest of the crowd soon jumped in with refrains of 'let him die' and offered less helpful suggestions such as throwing him out into the storm to freeze to death until a woman that Peter recognized stepped out of the crowd. She seemed to recognize him too, if only vaguely. "I'm Agent Carter." She smiled down at him as he crouched protectively over Sylar. "I couldn't help but admire the way you were finally able to do the impossible. I knew it would take a special to catch him. Congratulations."

"Thanks." Peter responded warily. "Now about the infirmary…"

"Of course." Carter nodded gravely. "I didn't get your name."

"Burke." He replied with utter conviction. "I have orders from Senator Nathan Petrelli to bring him back to Washington- _alive_."

She seemed impressed if not entirely convinced. "Senator Petrelli. Well, I wouldn't want to be found in contempt of Congress. The doctors on the premises will see to it that he is stabilized for transport." Sylar became internally fearful at the mention of company doctors seeing to his care and it made Peter's stomach turn. Her voice was slightly acidic as she added, "In the meantime, if you'll come with me I'll just verify your orders. Standard protocol."


	25. Intermission

**A/N: Not sure if I'll get another chapter up before the holiday, but if I don't, Happy Turkey Day! I'm thankful for all of you, cheers!**

**Chapter 25- Intermission**

"_It is not tolerable, it is not possible, that from so much death, so much sacrifice and ruin, so much heroism, a greater and better humanity shall not emerge."_

_-Charles de Gaulle_

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Damian was a little surprised to be back at his old job- at the office, anyway, and as odd as it was, sitting in one of Nathan's overstuffed chairs across from his desk in his underwear was even more strange. Not for his sake since he stopped caring long ago, but it somehow felt disrespectful to his boss even though he was ordered to take his pants off so Emma could see how bad the damage was while Luke waited his turn to be seen by the doctor.

Nathan did seem a little bothered, but it wasn't because his former intern was half naked in his office- a situation that would under normal circumstances raise questions- he had an entire room full of specials that had just destroyed his program's detainment facilities. Although it was well after hours and the building was mostly empty, he was still on guard. As the unknown father of the rebellion, he felt a sense of duty to see it through to the end and he would do his best to protect them until the time that they were able to walk about in public freely, but he only had so much latitude. It was all too easy for one of them to slip into the grey area where he could not reach them. Damian and Claire were living proof of his occasional lack of influence, and he was cautious not to declare victory until some semblance of a normal existence returned.

Noah adjusted his glasses and looked around at the group of individuals that he had at some points attempted to aid and at others had a hand in detaining. Hiro was excitedly relaying the moment of the Virginia explosion for Ando and West while Matt chuckled good naturedly at Mohinder's elevator experience. It was like some bizarre cocktail party interjected between history changing events. Claire joined her father with a small, weary smile that made him proud of her and yet a little sad that she was not the same little girl he'd always known. "Congratulations, Claire." He stated, wrapping his arm around her shoulder in a protective manner. He couldn't help it. No matter how old she was or how life's circumstances may have played out, she would always be his Claire-Bear. "I'm proud of what you did tonight. It was no small thing."

She watched Emma examine the wound on Damian's leg as he lay his head back on the chair and pretended it didn't hurt. Luke looked on with a morbid fascination as though he'd never seen anyone bleed before, but maybe he was just nervous about his turn. Mohinder's hands were already wrapped in white gauze from the cuts he sustained in his raid and it all made her realize that it was a monumental effort, but it came at a cost. They were lucky enough to return, and it underscored the fact that many in the war did not. As she looked around the room, it dawned on her that not everyone had arrived. "Where's Peter and Sylar?" She asked her father with a worried expression. Surely they didn't fail their mission. If they did, all their collective efforts would have been wasted.

"They're not coming." He said gently. He knew his daughter probably didn't give a damn about Sylar's presence, but she would no doubt be worried about Peter. "Nathan and I are handling things from here on out."

"Why aren't they coming?" She asked numbly. Her mind spun with the worst possibilities. S2 was the great equalizer and they could have been captured or killed.

Noah gave her a sad smile and left her to stand next to Nathan. "Attention, everyone." He called to quiet the room. "First off, congratulations to you all on your successful missions. That concludes phase I of the plan. You are all here to complete phase II." He gave an uneasy glace to Nathan, who seemed unusually solemn. "We know that what we're about to ask of you may in some respects seem even harder than what you just experienced, but you'll just have to trust us that this is the best way to end the war for good."

Nathan gave a tight nod toward Emma and her small group of patients. "We'll have to change the plan a little to compensate for some unexpected mishaps, but we'll manage. Now," he continued in a serious tone as he began to pace behind his desk, "under no circumstance are you to speak about anything that has happened here tonight with anyone. Not with other specials, not even your own mothers or a priest on your deathbed. Am I understood?" He got a reluctant, if not confused series of nods from those present. "Good. We are only going to tell you what you absolutely need to know in regards to the second stage of the mission. I know you'll have questions, but for now don't ask, just do. Time is short and we don't have the luxury of detailing everything. As Noah said, in light of what you'll be asked to do, it may seem incredible but we just need a group who will follow orders and trust that all the details have been worked out. If this will be a problem for you, tell us now."

It all sounded so top secret that it was inherently frightening. "It kind of depends." West laughed nervously. "I mean, are we supposed to rape someone or what? I need some context before I can make that decision."

"Not rape." Noah coldly corrected. "Murder."

"Murder." Mohinder restated, placing his hands on his hips in disbelief. "And this will stop the war. Shedding more blood will stop the bloodshed? I don't follow the logic."

"Where the hell's Sylar?" Matt asked looking around. "You should be asking him this. I guarantee you he'd have no problem with it."

Nathan sighed deeply, his large brown eyes filled with fatigue and just a hint of uncertainty although his voice was resolute. "He's the target." He had just done the one thing he had always avoided: directly giving an order for someone's death and it made his stomach turn. One of the last lines that separated him from truly bad men had just been blurred, perhaps irrevocably.

The entire room fell silent in shock until Luke gave voice to what everyone was thinking. "You can't be serious."

"Is…is this part of the plan change?" Ando asked tentatively. "Does _he_ know about this?" No rational human being could ever agree to such a thing and it felt like a double cross of epic proportion. No matter what Sylar had done in his past, ever since the war began he had done nothing but fight and risk his own life for the cause and to go along would be doing him a great dishonor. Then again, if his death would indeed end the war and better the lives of millions, which would be the greater disservice?

Noah removed a series of handguns from one of Nathan's desk drawers to give to Claire, Matt, Luke, and Hiro. "Sylar will be executed tonight and you will be the ones to do it. The world will be watching, so make it count." He paused in front of Mohinder and gave him an apologetic shrug. "We'll have to find a gun for you. We weren't expecting company." He glanced back at Luke to find him smiling a little too eagerly at the thought of having a weapon.

"No, that will be fine." He replied with a tense, sick smile. "If we are to shoot him to death, I believe that I will withdraw from duty." He knew that when it came down to it, when he was staring down the sight of his gun aimed at Sylar's body, he wouldn't be able to make himself pull the trigger. The very real damage that would result from his action would just be too much for him to live with. If Sylar or anyone else wanted to take another's life it was not for him to judge, but he had to make his own choices. "That is an awful way to kill someone, you know. If he is not immediately killed, he will suffer for perhaps several minutes, conscious of every excruciatingly painful second as he slowly bleeds to death or his damaged lungs fill with blood and he chokes and eventually suffocates."

West looked down at his gun and muttered, "Jesus." Real life did not approximate a video game and he hadn't really thought about it until Mohinder described the process. There was a time when he vowed he would kill Sylar if he ever had the chance and now that he did, he too was having to question his ability to actually go through with it.

"That's why I'm taking the kill shot." Noah sighed. "You all will aim and fire, but I'll make sure the job gets done." Aside from perhaps Matt, he was the only marksman who could guarantee the kind of accuracy they needed.

"But why us?" Hiro asked perplexed.

"Sylar knew it would end this way." Nathan calmly responded in a resigned tone as though he were already dead. "It was what he wanted. Perhaps it was his one chance to give you all a little measure of satisfaction for the things he has done, I don't know. But it was his request and as an added measure of security and anonymity, you'll all be wearing riot gear helmets with darkened face shields so no one can identify you."

"Oh, that's awesome," Luke snarked. "Got anything to keep my own brain from knowing that I killed him so I can live with myself and sleep at night?"

"We're almost out of time, people." Noah reminded them in a stern tone. "These are high caliber weapons, so use a two handed grip and brace yourselves for the recoil. Take one shot and one shot only. Just remember to aim for the center of his body, but try to stay away from his head." He absentmindedly checked his own personal gun he always wore to ensure it was loaded. "He may or may not be wearing a hood and that's just being unnecessarily messy."

"Wait." Claire piped up, finally shaken from the locked stare she held on her loaded weapon. "He might be able to see us? He'll be looking right at us while we shoot him?"

"_Maybe._" Noah stressed as he holstered his gun. "But even if he can see you, he won't know who you are. When you are face to face with him, he won't be Sylar- it will just be Gabriel Gray."

For those in the room that ever knew him at a time when he didn't have powers, the information was anything but helpful. It made sense that the government would shoot him full of S2 to strip him of his abilities, but the name Gabriel Gray conjured up the image of an entirely different man. Hiro and Ando recalled the watchmaker who sank to the floor in front of his mother's locked bedroom door, deeply saddened by her rejection of him. Luke and West remembered him hanging in the barn, defenseless and nearly dead from the abuse he suffered while he prayed for someone, anyone to show him just a little mercy. Even Matt and Mohinder knew that for the week that he lived as a slave, there was something different about him. Just past the bravado was a sense of fear- fear of being dominated, or abandoned, or ignored.

Noah was right- Gabriel Gray was not Sylar and knowing that they were executing an ordinary man made the task all that more difficult and revolting.

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Peter sat at the large conference table and bit his lip in irritation. Sylar had been hauled off to parts unknown over an hour ago while Agent Carter drug her feet on 'verifying' his orders- whatever that meant. Conveniently, the damage to the servers precluded receiving e-mails or faxes, but just why in the hell it took so long to pick up a damn phone to call Washington was beyond him. What he did know was that he was being jerked around, but he suspected it had more to do with Sylar than it did him. He really had nothing other than his gut instinct to go on, but he knew that his partner was a wanted man and no doubt the doctors that were meant to stabilize him were doing anything but in a mad rush to gather data while he was still vulnerable. He just couldn't shake the utter feeling of fear that spiked through Sylar's body at the mention of them. It wasn't part of the plan and it may have been his fault if he caused more damage than he'd intended to. He tried his best to precisely place the bullets where he wanted them with a mix of aim and telekinesis, but he was worried that his effort wasn't good enough. Even with his abilities at a fraction, Sylar could either bleed to death or worse yet, heal fast enough for them to notice and then the jig would certainly be up.

The door opened with a soft swoosh and Carter entered, wearing a congenial smile. "Alright, Agent Burke. Your credentials check out." She seemed almost disappointed and Peter tried not to look too surprised. He didn't know how deep Rebel implanted their fake data or just how Carter managed to research him with the system down, but apparently he'd constructed an entire second life for them just in case something like this were to happen. "We're just trying to reach a representative for Senator Petrelli to confirm transportation. I hope you understand why we have to be certain given the magnitude of who you're escorting and the extent of the damage we have suffered tonight."

"Of course." He granted in a professional tone. "But I shot him four times myself. I'm pretty confident he'll be easy to handle without his abilities."

Carter gave him a tense smirk. "Many people have made that mistake, Mr. Burke, and haven't lived to tell about it. Animals are most dangerous when their wounded."

"You think he's an animal?"

She laughed lightly. "We all are on some level. Some people are sheep who blindly follow, some are wild horses who can't be tamed, and a select few are sharks like Sylar- silent, stealthy, calculated predators."

"What do you think I am?" He asked amused. There was no right or wrong answer, but he thought that maybe if he played along and indulged her ego she might move faster to get him the hell out of the room and on with his business.

"I would say an eagle. Your eyesight must be incredible." She leaned forward on the table and gently folded her hands in front of her. "Or you're extraordinarily lucky."

Her almost accusatory posture put him on guard. "What does that mean?"

She sat back in her chair and sighed. "I'm amazed that you were able to sneak up on Sylar like that _and_ manage to only wound him- four times. Not one shot hit center mass. Simply incredible."

Peter squinted at her and coolly retorted, "It's skill, not luck. My orders were to bring him back alive. I can't do that if he dies from sepsis from a gut shot. I just needed to disable him and his abilities, and I did. End of story."

"And so you succeed where everyone else we could place in his path has failed." She gave him a sarcastic golf clap and added, "Well done. You know, I just can't shake the feeling that I know you."

"No." He shook his head in disgust. "You don't." Truthfully, he knew all he wanted to know about her.

"You look so familiar. Where would I have seen you before?" She persisted.

Peter tilted his head slightly and it appeared that he was pondering her question when what he was really doing was probing her mind for an answer that would satisfy her. "I work for Senator Petrelli, we might have passed each other at his office or something. Look, I don't have all night here. I have him on speed dial and I'll be happy to call him to get this all straightened out if you can't seem to get it done. I've been patient with you, but in two minutes I'm walking out that door and I'm leaving with my prisoner."

"Go ahead." She challenged him. "Call him." She was betting that he was bluffing. There was just something about him that didn't quite ring true.

He held her gaze as he removed his phone from his vest and placed it down on the table in Skype so she could hear everything and see that it was indeed the person he claimed it was. As soon as Nathan picked up, Peter was quick to jump in to let him know it wasn't a friendly call. "Senator Petrelli," he greeted in a firm, business like tone, "Agent Burke. Sorry to call you so late, Senator, but we need a little clarification."

Nathan immediately picked up on his brother's tone before he even used his pseudonym and his eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion. If his brother was calling him, then something had gone wrong. "Of course, Agent Burke. What can I do for you?" He pleasantly smiled.

He took a deep breath and hoped that he could manage to sound official although he never really had much practice at such things. "I was successful in capturing the target, Sir, but the facility here has been destroyed. I have Agent Stephanie Carter here with me and she just needs verification that I was indeed instructed to capture Sylar and transport him back to Washington."

"That was the agreement, yes." Nathan confirmed. "Congratulations. I'm sure there will be a promotion in your future."

Peter laughed. He didn't want a promotion, what he really hoped for was a demotion- right out of a job. "Thank you, Sir." He looked up at Carter with an 'I told you so' smile and added, "I'll be there in a few hours then."

"We'll be waiting." To the casual observer, Nathan appeared all certitude, but Peter knew him better than that. He could hear the slight undertone of tense fatigue in his voice and he identified completely with it.

Peter put his phone back in his vest and stood up from the table with a weary sigh. "Now, where's Sylar?"

She reluctantly had to admit defeat. She still wasn't completely convinced that everything was on the up and up, but she could think of no other means to delay or detain him. "Follow me." She instructed.

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In the basement of the building where the shells of the servers he had destroyed were still smoldering, Sylar sat tied to a cold, metal chair that had been hastily bolted to the floor so it wouldn't tip over. Everything was tinged red, but he didn't know if it was the glow from the emergency lights or if the ruby tinge came from the blood that ran into his eyes. In the end it didn't matter- he couldn't do anything about it, or rather he chose not to.

Volition and the power of will was something that Sylar was intimate with. His inherent drive to be special, to know, and to survive was insatiable and it carried him through the darkest periods of his life. But as he sat there shivering from the cold and shock, he found himself forcibly suppressing his urge to break free and annihilate his tormentors. Although enough of his powers remained that he could have defended himself, he allowed his restraints to contain him and he permitted the vengeful agents to take out their frustrations on him. Every kick, every blow, every second that he sat there and took the beating was a gift and a necessity. He had to let them believe he was powerless for the sake of the plan, and so he sat in his chair like an obedient and broken villain while the supposed good guys took a righteous sense of vindication in his suffering.

"I hope they skin you alive when you get to Washington." One agent snarled as he gave him a solid right hook that nearly knocked him out.

"Must suck to be you." Another laughed. "Even your own kind thinks you're a bastard."

"Game's over." Yet another sniggered. "I hope they keep your head alive in a jar in some deep, dark warehouse so you can stare at the inside of a crate for the rest of eternity."

The group assaulted him with a flurry of strikes that left them winded and he bloodied and barely conscious. Through it all he said nothing, further fueling their hatred of him. If he would have begged them to stop, or in any way indicated that he was remorseful or guilty of the things they believed him to be, it might have given them pause. But rather than give them the added pleasure, he remained stubbornly silent and lightly panted in pain, blood dripping into his lap from his nose and mouth and he smiled broadly, his teeth tinged pink and his dark eyes danced with a spark of unassailable determination. An agent, infuriated by his audacity, gave him a roundhouse kick that landed squarely on one of his bullet wounds in his lower side. Sylar coughed and winced while the agents laughed.

"That's enough!" Peter yelled, his voice echoing across the cinderblock walls. "I didn't take him down so you could kill him." He crossed the distance from the stairwell to Sylar in a matter of seconds and gave the agents at stern look of disapproval as he worked on untying his prisoner. "Some medical staff you have here." He noted sarcastically as he handcuffed Sylar's trembling hands in front of his body rather than behind, no small act of mercy in Sylar's estimation. "Get up." He commanded his charge. He felt bad for being so apparently callous toward his partner, but he had to stay in character- at least until they could leave the facility.

Sylar slowly and painfully stood up, pausing midway to allow the cramping in his side to ease before gently stretching to his full height and towering over his captor. It wasn't Peter he was concentrated on, however. He gave the agents a deep, penetrating stare that clearly communicated ill intent, but he reserved his most contemptuous glare for Carter. Try as she might to appear stonily unconcerned, he delighted in the small glimmer of fear that simmered behind her eyes. She was afraid of him and she had every reason to be.

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Phase II of the plan was in motion and all of the participants had departed for the CIA's federal holding facility downtown. By now, thanks to a few strategic leaks, word was beginning to spread about Sylar's capture. All of the news outlets were covering the story and converging on the outskirts of the property, hoping to catch a glimpse of him as he was escorted to his death or maybe to talk to someone who could have even the remotest thing to add to the conversation. It was a media circus to be sure, but it was exactly the reaction they were hoping for.

Nathan paced his empty office while the chaos played out on his muted TV screen, unnerved by the unexpected phone call he received from his brother. Things must have been in a mess for him to reach out, but he hoped that it was a minor glitch and that the plan was still going forward. Some minor adjustments had to be made with Mohinder's conscientious objection to his duty and Damian's reassignment.

He didn't really know what to make of the deaf doctor that Peter had found, he thought she was just quiet until he was informed of the nature of her disability, but she seemed unusually nervous. When pressed about her commitment to the project, she confessed that she had never actually done an autopsy before. The closest she had come to such a thing was the dissection of a cadaver for her first year gross anatomy class and that wasn't exactly the same level of skill or precision that was needed. Nathan was about to make a panicked call of his own to Peter, but he found an unlikely savior in his formerly mousy intern. Damian had worked in a morgue as a lab tech and had observed many autopsies. He wasn't a professionally trained surgeon, but he had plenty on the job experience. It was decided that between the two, they could do a fair and convincing job, but Noah perhaps wisely advised them not to tell Sylar about it- ever.

He reached for his jacket on the back of his chair when there was a knock at the door and Senator McCaskey entered with a beaming smile. "You ready?" He asked gleefully as though he could hardly wait to see another human being be murdered in front of his very eyes. "Your adoring crowd awaits their hero."

Nathan felt sick. "I'm no hero." He assured his colleague.

"Aren't you proud of this moment?" McCaskey asked perplexed. In his world, it was good triumphing over evil and he just couldn't fathom how anyone could have second thoughts about the divine purity of it all.

"Only because it means the end of the war."

McCaskey laughed and shook his head. "It's only starting, Petrelli."

Nathan felt the rage boil up inside of him. He knew a double cross was a possibility given McCaskey's fevered bent on eradicating all specials. "What?"

He smoothed his white hair and gave him a disingenuous smile. "Such an idealist. Now that Sylar's out of the way, we can finally wipe them out like the cockroaches they are, Petrelli. Without him to protect them, it will be all in a day's work."

"He was captured through your Chimera project." Nathan hissed. "It's proof that it works. Specials and ordinary humans can live side by side. Sylar's the threat, not all people with abilities."

"And where did he come from?" He asked patiently. "If we don't get rid of them all, more like him could appear and we'll be back at square one. To eradicate a cancer, you remove the entire tumor- not just a few cells."

Nathan slowly approached his fellow lawmaker until he was nearly toe to toe with him. "I worked within your project to bring you Sylar, but ultimately it wasn't me who caught him- it was other specials. If you want my advice, take credit for the deal and walk away because the same people who brought down the most powerful evolved human on the planet can also make you disappear." He leaned in just a little closer and his voice was just barely an audible growl. "I'm warning you, McCaskey, if you screw me over on this deal, I will end you."


	26. Act III

**A/N: Thanks to all that reviewed! I'm not sure what's going on with FF's reply links, but they are broken ;( However, I do want you to know that I appreciate your comments! Cheers!**

**Chapter 26- Act III**

"_The courage of life is often a less dramatic spectacle than the courage of a final moment; but it is no less a magnificent mixture of triumph and tragedy."_

_- John F. Kennedy_

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Peter glanced back nervously. He knew he should have been watching the road in the terrible conditions, but Sylar had been worrisomely quiet and that was strange given his circumstances. Sylar had been literally hog tied and heaved face first into the back of a borrowed van for transport. No care was taken in regards to his physical being, no attention paid to his injuries. They didn't even give him his coat back. The average person would at least let a little indication of discomfort or irritation slip, but so far he hadn't heard a peep and he wondered if his partner was still conscious. He had taken quite a beating at the facility and Peter felt guilty. He promised him he would take care of him, but they weren't off to a very good start.

He turned the heat on, but in the extreme cold temperatures, the vents were blowing out little more than cool air and it was doubtful that Sylar could even feel it laying on the floor as he was. He fought his instinct to pull over and check on his prisoner because he was fairly certain he was being followed. He might have been able to leave the facility, but he had an unsettling feeling that Carter wasn't convinced and it would make sense that she would tail him. He glanced back again. Sylar should have retained some level of control over his abilities- at least what remained of them- and the fact that he hadn't freed himself from his bonds worried Peter. What worried him more, however, was the thought that perhaps Sylar didn't have the power to. Maybe four shots were too many. If that were the case, the entire plan was in jeopardy. War or no, there was no way in hell he was going to deliver a completely defenseless man to be executed. Caught between duty and instinct, he did as best he could to satisfy both: he drove as fast as he safely could and scanned Sylar's thoughts for any clues to his condition. He was indeed conscious, and he was very cold, hungry, hurting, and a little anxious, but overall glad to be with someone he knew wouldn't take advantage of his captivity. Peter smiled to himself humbly and couldn't help but acknowledge the tremendous amount of trust Sylar was placing in him- and given all the horror he'd endured at the hands of others, trust was no small or easy thing for him.

Peter pulled over at the last sign of life as he exited the town for the barren cornfields- a truck stop. "I'll be right back." He informed his captive, but Sylar gave him no response other than to shiver violently at the rush of arctic air that flowed over him when Peter opened his door. He hated to do it, but he turned the engine off and took the keys- not because he was afraid Sylar would free himself and abandon him, but if Carter's people were following him, it would be all too easy for them to kidnap Sylar again and drive away. He practically ran through the store, gathering the items he needed to minimize the amount of time he was left freezing to death in the van. When he returned, things were just as he left them- Sylar hadn't moved an inch. "Hang in there, man." Peter encouraged him, once again checking to be sure the heat was cranked up as far as it would go. "Just a few more miles." Indeed, Peter drove off into the inky blackness of the storm filled sky and stretches of empty farm fields until he was the only set of headlights visible for miles. Truthfully he had to stop not just for Sylar's sake, but the country roads had become impassible without a four wheel drive SUV and to be honest, he wasn't even sure he was on the road anymore. He could have drifted off into the middle of a field for all he knew, but it didn't matter. Soon he would provide a more accurate and reliable form of transportation for them.

He left the engine running, and turned on the interior lights before hopping into the back. Sylar lay perfectly still with his eyes closed, lightly breathing. It was as if he were sleeping, but Peter couldn't imagine being able to pull that off, especially given how light a sleeper he had become since the war started. He frowned worriedly and very gently shook his shoulder. "Sylar?" He softly called, "You ok?"

Sylar didn't open his eyes and his deep voice sounded paradoxically relaxed. "It kind of hurts at first, but once you get used to it, it's actually kind of comfortable."

Peter broke out into a wide smile and chuckled. If he'd learned anything from being around Sylar, it was that the killer had a dark sense of humor. No matter what happened to him, no matter how dire the circumstance he found himself in, as long as he held onto his ability to make an inappropriate, snarky comment everything would be ok. "That's probably because you've lost all feeling in your arms and legs." He untangled the length of rope that connected the chains from his wrists to his ankles and let him slowly stretch his immobile muscles. It had to have felt wonderfully excruciating once the blood began to fill his vacated vessels. "Or you're hypothermic."

He wanted to help Sylar sit up, but he was determined to do it on his own even if it took longer than it should have. Peter patiently watched his fumbling attempts to right himself with his numb and exsanguinated limbs and it reminded him of people who were excessively drunk, but he kept his thoughts to himself and dug into his stash to retrieve a blanket along with the other items he bought. Sylar accepted the blanket and allowed Peter to wrap it around him with a few tentative, furtive glances to be sure he didn't seem too needy in his eyes. Peter couldn't help but notice how exhausted and weary he looked. His pale, bruised face made his dull and dark eyes stand out and the way he trembled from the cold was just sad. He wasn't Sylar anymore- he was a far cry from the nearly invincible supervillain he once was. Once again, Peter was face to face with Gabriel Gray, a more or less normal man with very human tolerances to pain and suffering. "I got you some coffee and something to eat. I thought you might be hungry." He thought it was a reasonable assumption to make that in no way indicated that he had read his thoughts, or at least he hoped.

Sylar stretched out his fingers and clenched them into a fist over and over again to encourage the feeling to return to his hands so he could hold the Styrofoam cup without spilling it on himself. Once Peter handed it over, he sat with his knees drawn tightly to his chest and enjoyed the aroma of the strong, no doubt bitter drink and the feeling of ambient warmth seep into his skin. The coffee had no doubt cooled somewhat since he'd bought it, but it still felt hot to him. For one perfect moment he felt content- as if it were the end of his ordeal and he had the entire night to enjoy it. He knew he didn't, but he took solace in the time that he had and was surprised by what Peter presented him with next. He tried not to let his amusement show, but the corners of his mouth involuntarily curled into a small smile at the sight of the peach fried pie. He took his dinner and asked, "Do you know how many calories are in these things?"

"Watching your figure?" Peter playfully teased.

"I don't want to ooze peach goo later tonight." He replied darkly, taking a hefty bite and washing it down with coffee. The pie was almost a necessity to balance out the harsh taste of the burnt, stale coffee and it almost made him wince.

Peter took a seat across from him and pointed to the rest of the contents of the bag. "There's another one in there if you want it along with some wipes to clean up your face." The dried blood and purple bruises on his pale skin looked like some kind of macabre modern art arrangement.

Sylar seemed apathetic about being clean. "Do you think it really matters?" He was going to be shot full of holes in an hour or so. Having a clean face seemed like polishing the brass while the ship went down in his estimation. As far as he was concerned, he earned the right to look the way he did.

"In a way, yeah." Peter affirmed. "I don't think the government will want people asking why you look like you had the hell beat out of you. It makes them look bad."

"Oh," he lightly retorted with a sneer, "then by all means. We wouldn't want people asking questions about the government's practices, now would we?"

Peter sighed in frustration. "That's not what I meant. What they did was wrong, Sylar, I agree. But we have to pick and choose our battles here. We are so close to winning." Sylar threw his hands up in acquiescence and cleaned himself as well as he was able, even the still disturbingly fresh bullet grazes on his torso although his clothing was a complete loss. Peter was alarmed that after the time that had passed, they looked no closer to healing than if he had just shot him. "Sylar," he started slowly in a suspicious tone, "why haven't those healed at all?" Sylar met his eyes with a knowing determination- as though he had stumbled upon some secret and it sent Peter into a barely controlled panic. "You still have some of your abilities left, right? God so help me, if you don't…"

"The plan will go on." He coldly cut him off. "It has to."

"Bullshit!" Peter hissed. "You can't do this without me and I refuse to take you anywhere if you don't have your powers. It's completely insane and I won't do it." He didn't care if he did sound petulant, he could never live with himself if he did.

"I still have them." He assured him with a snarl. "I just need…" He found it nearly impossible to ask for the very thing that would save his life. "I need…"

"You need what?" Peter asked exasperated. "Tell me, I'll help you."

Sylar lowered his head almost as if he were ashamed. "I have my abilities, but barely- not enough to use them like I need to. They're fading somehow. I need you to…" he tried to think of the best way to phrase his request so as not to make himself look any weaker or more helpless than he had to, "…_lend_ me some of your energy." He finished quietly.

Peter immediately felt guilty. It was his fault that Sylar was in the position he was, although he never once blamed him for it. He spread his arms wide and smiled. "Then take it." He invited sincerely. "Take what you need."

"I can't." Sylar growled in irritation. "Why do you think I didn't untie myself? Besides, we both know it's much easier for you, given the nature of the ability." It was admitting his own fallibility, but he had to be unflinching when it came to something as serious as this. Peter could easily feel compassion even for someone like him, but the amount of fear required to forcibly take Peter's energy from him was almost psychologically overwhelming. He did it once, but he did not want to ever feel terror like that again. In his own way, he was asking for Peter's mercy not to have to.

"I…um." Peter licked his lips nervously. "I haven't replicated Damian's ability yet. I was going to do it only if I had to." He noted the sad apprehension in Sylar's deep eyes and he gave him a firm nod. "But I will, I swear. I'll get it before you do your thing one way or another. I promise. Can you trust me?" Sylar slowly shook his head in guarded agreement, and Peter couldn't blame him. It was a lot to ask of anyone to wait until the last possible second to save their life. He glanced at the glowing clock on the dashboard and swallowed dryly. "It's almost time for your court appearance. Are you ready?"

Sylar's eyes fell in dreaded despair, but he was resolute. "Let's get it over with."

Peter teleported them to Nathan's office where they were surprised to see he had company. By the looks of things, it wasn't of the friendly sort. McCaskey jumped at their sudden appearance and Peter looked to Nathan for guidance on what to do. Nathan coolly played it off as though it were all part of the plan. "Welcome back, Agent…" Lately he had been having difficulty with names. He read the name tag on his brother's uniform and smiled, "Burke. I was starting to get worried." He turned back to his nemesis with a congenial yet superiorly smug grin. "Agent Burke is part of your Chimera project and as you see," he gestured over his shoulder to a menacing looking cuffed Sylar, "he got our man."

McCaskey gave Peter a tensely friendly nod, but in no way did he like the idea of being around what he considered an uncaged and uncontrolled animal. Still, he couldn't help his own curiosity and he was drawn to the mythical man in chains. Sylar remained perfectly still, only his eyes tracked the movements of the elder senator. As McCaskey looked him up and down, it reminded him of being a slave- the likes of the law maker were the very kind to inspect him and unabashedly grope him while they licked their thin lips and he felt his heart race as though he were back in the tent with Tipton.

Peter was taken by the sudden rush of fear coming from Sylar and he glanced at him to make sure he was ok. It was unlike him to be so intimidated by the old man and he couldn't figure out what could have caused the sudden spike of near panic, but he had the power to stop it. "I wouldn't get too close." He warned McCaskey in a serious tone. "He may not have his abilities, but he still knows how to kill you. As many people as he has under his belt, he won't lose sleep over one more." McCaskey seemed sufficiently spooked and he shrank away as quickly as dignity would allow.

The four of them were escorted to the underground tunnels that crisscrossed the capital and allowed those of importance to get from one building to another without facing the populace. In this case, it also allowed the life of one man to be weighed in a ridiculous parody of justice in the Supreme Court building. The entire proceeding took less than two minutes. Sylar was not informed of any specific evidence against him, he was not allowed to face his accusers, and he was not given access to any representation on his behalf. The affair consisted of his standing alone in a tiny room in front of a stern looking, gray haired judge and a few questions. "Mr. Gabriel Gray, AKA Sylar." She announced in a damning tone. "You are being charged with the crime of treason for your conscious decision to assist and act on the behalf of the rebellion against the United States government in a time of war. How do you plead to the charges against you?"

Sylar look up at the judge and scoffed. "Does it matter?" He asked rhetorically. "You have made sure to restrict any means I have of defending myself fairly."

"I didn't ask for your opinion, Mr. Gray. Let the record reflect that the defendant declined to enter a plea." Sylar looked around at the otherwise empty room and wondered who she was talking to. If he was the defendant, where was the prosecution? It became clear that she was the judge, jury, and would demand his execution- how convenient. "It is this court's ruling that you are guilty of the crime of treason. Do you have any last words before I sentence you?"

He smirked at the bitter old woman and replied, "My only regret is that I have but one life to give?"

"As do I, Mr. Gray." She deadpanned. "If you had more, I would gladly relieve you of them. One life is hardly enough restitution for the damage you have caused during your time on this earth." She slammed her gavel down with authority and passed her judgment. "You are hereby sentenced to death. The punishment will carried out expediently, not to exceed 24 hours from this time. It is by the request of Senators Petrelli and McCaskey that due to the nature of your crimes, your punishment be a matter of public record and a warning to all that take the same path that you have chosen. I would add may God have mercy on your soul, Mr. Gray, but I am in doubt that even he is capable of such a feat."

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Claire paced the room while Luke looked out the small, slatted window at the swelling grounds below, teaming with people chanting and holding signs. "Jesus." He sighed. "Look at them out there. You would think we were handing out bottles of Hennessey and ecstasy pills."

"I could use a hit." West grumbled. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Keep your heads." Noah advised. He didn't know what the hold up was, but the longer the team had to stew and mill about, the more likely it was that they would get cold feet.

Matt had been trying to make sense of the whole enterprise ever since he got roped into it, and although he had a few plausible theories, he wanted to hear it from someone who knew for sure. He got up the courage to approach Noah and asked in a confidentially low whisper, "Ok man, seriously. What the hell's going on?"

"We told you." He replied simply. "You are going to shoot Sylar so all those below can cheer and go home feeling like the world is safe again."

"Yeah, I get that." Matt nodded, "But I mean what's _really_ going on? You don't expect us to believe that there isn't some hidden trap door somewhere. So come on. Tell me."

HRG smiled cryptically when he noticed that Matt seemed to be concentrating a little harder than a person who was waiting for a verbal response needed to. "You aren't trying to read my mind now are you, Parkman?" He gently chided. He could easily come up with a million truly unpleasant things to dwell on to throw the mind reader off, but he was fully aware that Matt also had the ability to really screw him up if he wanted to. Matt wasn't the kind of guy who would do such a thing vindictively, but he certainly had the capacity to get the information he wanted if he so desired. "What do you think?"

Matt shrugged. "I dunno. Is he already going to be dead or something?"

Noah frowned. "A corpse? A hanging meat sack wouldn't be convincing. They want to see him bleed before he dies. Dead guys don't bleed. It would never work."

"Ok." He granted, a little disgusted that Noah could be so calm and matter of fact about such a thing. "Maybe it won't be him."

"Everyone knows what he looks like and finding a body double is tough. He isn't walking down the red carpet, here. You couldn't pay people enough to be in his shoes right now."

"Fine! Maybe he'll be wearing a bullet proof vest. Maybe Hiro will stop time or something. I don't know, but it can't be as simple as we just shoot him and that's that." He nearly laughed.

Noah's face was expressionless as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, that's pretty much it." Matt could read his mind all he wanted, but he truthfully didn't have much more information than what he had given. Peter was careful to stress that when he took his shot to aim just right or left of his target's heart. Noah told them all he was going to take the kill shot, but in reality he was instructed to only make it look plausible. He wasn't told why, but Peter made him swear on Claire's life that he would and it certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd misled people. Sylar would still bleed to death internally in a matter of seconds, but it wouldn't kill him instantly. 'Kill' was a relative term that meant ending another's life and he was going to- just not as hastily as everyone assumed he would. "But thanks for the vest thing. I didn't think of that."

"Sure." Matt mumbled a little baffled as he watched him turn and walk away to speak with Emma and Damian. "You're welcome." 

Damian looked every bit the medical professional in his button up shirt and tie, black glasses and white lab coat. Emma wore hers along with a stethoscope snaked around her neck. Noah handed them both sound dampening headphones to wear. "You'll need these when we fire. Safety first." He reminded.

Emma took hers with a wry smile. "I don't really need these. Am I going to go deaf?" What she really needed was a set of blinders to block the explosion of color that would fill the room- and to keep her from watching another person be murdered right in front of her eyes. She was certainly no stranger to trauma. She had been responsible for saving the lives of victims of car accidents, industrial mishaps, fires, even one bomb tech from a local police department, but no matter what circumstances landed her maimed patients in her ER, she never witnessed the event happen first hand.

Noah chuckled at her self-depreciating humor. "Not everyone out there knows you're deaf and it will look a little suspicious if you aren't wearing them." He took a moment to compose himself and tug at his uncomfortably snug uniform he borrowed from Damian. "Are you both clear on your duties?"

Damian bit his lip and glanced at Emma. "I think so. After you guys…" it was just too unpleasant to give voice to, but he assumed Noah knew what he was getting at. "She and I will walk up to Sylar and she checks him out and says he's dead. I do what she does and agree with her and give the time of death."

"Remember that you don't approach him until Peter gives the signal." He cleared his throat and went on. "Also remember to tell everyone he's dead." He paused to lower his voice. "Even if he isn't."

Outside, the crowd erupted into a frenzied, yet chillingly coherent cheer and those inside the execution room snapped to attention. Ando pulled out his cell phone and found a streaming feed of the events going on outside. Everyone gathered around his screen to watch in sickened anticipation. Nathan and Senator McCaskey stood at a podium in front of a gigantic screen, proudly emblazoned with a gently waving American flag. Nathan smiled and waved at the adoring crowd that largely chanted his name while McCaskey too applauded him- albeit disingenuously. He gestured for the crowd to quiet as he leaned close to the microphone and flashed a cocky grin like the suave politician he was. All it took was three simple words to send the crowd into jubilated madness. "We got him."

It seemed like the very walls of the building shook and the news stream that Ando had dialed into showed similar scenes all throughout the country: New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, Houston, Miami, Detroit- in every major city and smaller town, people gathered around public squares and TV sets to witness history. But it didn't stop there. In global cities like Tokyo, London, Mexico City, and Delhi the story played out with varying levels of fanfare. While most foreign outlets ate up the hysteria, the BBC downplayed the significance to the point of almost frowning on the media circus that had engulfed the world. It only made sense that they be the voice of reason in a world gone mad with bloodlust. Western Europe was never friendly to the campaign to suppress specials in the first place, so Sylar's capture was not viewed with the same level of infectious enthusiasm as some of their supposedly civilized allies.

"My fellow Americans," Nathan chuckled, echoing a familiar greeting to the nation used by famous politicians, "thank you to all who have joined us in celebration of our nation's greatest achievement. It is by your collective effort and the brave dedication of our finest soldiers and courageous citizens such as yourselves that I can proudly say that the biggest threat this country has ever known has been brought to his knees." He waited for the swell of cheers to subside before continuing. "But it was not by our effort alone that Sylar was captured. Ladies and gentlemen, for far too long we have been operating under the assumption that all those with abilities were dangerous, myself included." The crowd suddenly turned on their hero, booing his insinuation that they had been wrong all along, but Nathan patiently waited them out. "In this nation's great history we have been forced to admit that we were wrong in our perceptions and prejudices and it is only when we can admit our errors that we can heal the rifts that threaten to tear us apart. There was a time when we believed that the Native Americans were an inferior race although they showed us how to survive in this land and healed us with their medicines. We once believed that the Chinese and the Germans and the Irish were all disposable even though they risked their lives to build our railroads and engineer our greatest cities. Even though they were strong enough to work in our factories and give birth to our children, we didn't trust that our women had the mental capacity to have an informed and intelligent opinion on political matters, so we didn't allow them to vote." He paused and gave an easy laugh. "I, however, recognize that women make up 68% of my base, so I very much value them." The crowd roared in laughter and it was amazing how he was able to so quickly win them back to his side. "But most recently we thought that blacks didn't deserve to attend the same schools, drink from the same fountains, or eat at the same lunch counters as anyone else. We were wrong. Embracing differences is what has made this country great. Specials too have made contributions to our collective welfare, both large and small. But tonight, they gave you Sylar." The crowd was stunned into silence, unsure of what to make of the proclamation. "In time perhaps we too can have the courage to look back and say that we were wrong, but the first step in the journey begins with faith- faith that specials everywhere honored by banding together to end Sylar's reign of terror through a program called the Chimera Project. A program conceived of and sponsored by Senator McCaskey." The crowd began to softly cheer, although they were still skeptical. Nathan gripped the sides of the podium and prepared to fall on his sword in a final attempt to sway them. "FDR once said that we have nothing to fear but fear itself. I stand before you all tonight and take full responsibility for my part in overestimating the danger of those with abilities. It will perhaps be my biggest mistake and I fully support Senator McCaskey's effort to unite this country through his program to bring together those with abilities and those without so we can all move forward and end this war. We have for too long allowed our hatred and fear blind us. Both sides have suffered when all along we have all been striving for the same goal: mutual respect and safety. Tonight, it begins. Tonight, Sylar will be executed and it will be televised." Once again, the crowd roared with approval and it made him sick to think that the people he sought to represent were not the noble individuals he hoped they were, but a band of barbarians. He forced himself to give a quick smile, but was sure to keep his voice stern like the only adult in a room of millions of rowdy children. "We are not glorifying his death or making him a martyr for his cause, but it is our hope that with all of us as witnesses, we can finally close perhaps one of the darkest chapters of our history and begin a new one, written with eternal hope and enduring determination- coauthored by specials and non-specials alike. Tonight we leave behind the darkness of night and welcome the light of a new day and a new era. Tonight is the end of Sylar."


	27. Curtain Call

**A/N: The anxiety is over- the moment has arrived. Enjoy ;)**

**Chapter 27- Curtain Call**

"_Forgive me, comrade. We always see it too late. Why do they never tell us that you are poor devils like us, that your mothers are just as anxious as ours, and that we have the same fear of death, and the same dying and the same agony? Forgive me, comrade; how could you be my enemy?"_

-All Quiet on the Western Front

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Nathan's impassioned speech had varying effects on his listeners in the execution room, but none could say they were indifferent. Some wanted to believe that what they were doing, awful as it was, would allow them to start a new life. The needs of the many outweighed the few- or the one- and it was a shame that Sylar had to be sacrificed but in a way, it was his own doing. If he could have found contentment or even been happy with his original gifted ability rather than going on a calculated murder spree for more, people might not have hated him as they did. But it wasn't even that he had killed so many, it was the fact that with each life he took he became even more powerful and at some point the balance shifted where everyone knew that he was almost invincible- people feared him and fear fueled their hatred.

Others in the room found the promise of an easy solution almost too good to be true. To them, Sylar's death was almost meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Not because he was disposable or his life mattered less than anyone else's, but what good would his death do for all those that still believed specials were no better than farm animals- people without souls or rights? How would his murder change their perception? A few actually felt sorry for the condemned man. In the end, could any of them really say with any authority that he deserved to die? He had unquestioningly done evil things in his past, but who among them had led a perfectly blameless life? And if nothing else, his actions over the preceding months had more than proven his determination, dedication, and ability to put his own interests on hold for the sake of others. He could be a valuable and reliable team player when it came down to it. He may have had a lot of catching up to do, but it seemed wrong to take his life just as he was learning how to be a better person.

"Alright, places everybody." Noah commanded when he spotted Peter bounding through the door. Everyone rushed to put on their headgear before Sylar was brought in. Although they were meant to protect their identities, Claire felt the gesture to be useless. It would be obvious to Sylar which she was by virtue of being the only shooter with breasts and long, blonde hair.

Peter wore a grim expression on his face as he looked around the room. The ambient anxiety was heightened and he didn't need his abilities to sense it. Even a cockroach scurrying by would have known that something very serious was about to go down. He surveyed the space one last time just to be sure that everything was just so. Perhaps spending the last few days around Sylar was making him more anal, but this was not the time to throw caution to the wind. He had a grave duty to make sure it all went off as planned and he was determined to make good on his promise to Sylar. He simply couldn't fail him now. "Is everyone clear on what they're doing?" He asked. "We can't afford mistakes. If you have questions, now is the time to ask because he'll be here in a few minutes." He left him alone in his holding cell- but only because Sylar asked him to. Maybe he needed to throw up from nerves, maybe he wanted to break down and cry from the stress in private, or maybe he just needed a quiet moment to reflect or perhaps even pray one last time, he didn't know- but he respected his last request and left him to hopefully find some peace.

"Peter." Noah quietly gestured for him to come close so he could say what he had to in relative privacy. "When you get him in here, take his shirt off."

Peter's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "And….why would I do that?" It was a bad enough indignity to be shot on live television for entertainment, but he could imagine Sylar would have a few reservations about doing it half naked.

"So people can see that he's not wearing a bulletproof vest." He sighed. "I wish I could say I thought of it, but it was Matt's idea. We only want to do this once, right?"

"I suppose." He granted numbly. It did make sense to remove all question from the minds of conspiracy theorists, but that just meant that the spectacle was going to be all the more graphic. It was one thing to watch a slowly expanding circle of red around a bullet hole through a shirt, but it would be something else entirely to see the very real damage that bullets did as they tore through flesh uncensored. But that reminded him of one last thing he had to do. He approached Emma and Damian as they stood solemnly with their hands behind their backs well behind the shooters as a safety precaution.

"Peter." Emma smiled relieved. "I was starting to get a little worried something had happened to you."

He blushed slightly and Damian looked away, pretending not to notice out of courtesy. "I'm fine." He assured her. "And when this is all over, I'll be happy to sit down with you and tell you all about it. But it isn't over yet." He gave a quick smile to Damian and nodded in appreciation at his costume. "You look like a natural, Dr…" he glanced at the nametag and paused. "Giovanni Rossi? Wow. Now that's an Italian name. Buona fortuna."

Damian shook his head with a blank expression. "I have no idea what it means."

"Doesn't matter, you'll pull it off." He reached out to give him a pat on the shoulder as he surreptitiously copied his ability. "You'll be fine. We just had a small change in plans."

He felt a strangely cold and tingly sensation flow between them and he thought it was odd, but he shook it off. "Yeah, we did too." He admitted quietly.

Peter paused and cocked his head suspiciously. He wanted to know all the details, but he was out of time. "Is everything good?" In the end, that was all he needed to know.

"Yeah, we're still pretty much on the same page." He nodded a little hesitantly. "Mostly." He and Emma were going to do the same dance, he just hoped the switch in who was leading wasn't going to screw things up too much.

He knew there was more to that story, but it would have to wait and he hoped that whatever the situation was, it had been worked out so things would still move along seamlessly. "Alright, everybody." He yelled as he turned to go. "This is it. Take your positions. We're going live."

The room had been demarcated by colored tape on the floor so everyone knew where they were supposed to be. Matt, West, Luke- wearing Mohinder's discarded fatigues, and Noah stood shoulder to shoulder along the blue line while Claire, Ando, and Hiro kneeled along the green line in front of them to form a solid firing line. Approximately five feet to the right of the group was a red x for Peter to stand on and Emma and Damian were already firmly on their yellow line at the back of the room. A mysterious orange x lingered to the left, but no tape was needed for Sylar to know where to be. At a distance of 15 feet from the firing squad, a solid iron beam stood bolted to the floor surrounded by a wall of sandbags to catch stray ordinance. On the backside of the beam, a short set of chains had been welded in place, guaranteeing that once he was cuffed to them he would not break free.

As they waited with their face shields down and guns drawn, the room seemed almost claustrophobic. The stark, white cinderblock walls seemed to close in on them as the finality of the moment set in and the crowd outside cheered for their unknown vigilantes. To the crowd, they looked like a random mix of anonymous government agents and rebel fighters, but the awful truth was held from them. In a way, knowing Sylar, if even briefly, made it exponentially harder to kill him but to be so close to him while they did it made it almost unbearable. The soft jingling of chains announced his arrival and when he turned the corner and they saw him, it was all too much.

Peter gently guided him as he shuffled along, the shortened chains barely allowing a long enough stride to keep him from falling over. Although he couldn't see their faces, he could fairly well guess who was who either by height, weight, or certain other factors like small hands and blonde hair. He gave a slight, fleeting smirk to Claire. Of them all, she would no doubt enjoy it the most. Noah was also easy to pick out of the lineup- not because of any particular physical attribute, but the calm certitude that he exuded almost made it feel like he was entirely comfortable in participating. It was probably just so much target practice to him. He had, after all, emptied entire clips into him before, so it wasn't like it was a novel situation for him. Peter unlocked one of his handcuffs just so he could reattach it to the pole behind him. It stretched his arms painfully away from his body to wrap them around the beam backwards, but it also made his chest stick out a bit more. Maybe it was meant to make it easier for the shooters, but it certainly wasn't comfortable. Then again, he was fairly certain that his comfort wasn't a consideration in the design. Additionally, a wide, padded leather belt was cinched around his hips to further lash him to the pole and prevent him from falling too far when he finally did expire. People wanted to see him die, but they didn't want to see him crumple like a ragdoll. They wanted their death nice and tidy even if it wasn't quite realistic.

Peter stood in front of Sylar pretending to check the tightness of the belt and whispered, "You ok?" Sylar was aware the world was watching- and listening- so he just gave him a stonily determined scowl. "Alright." He glanced up and gave him a half smile as he started to slowly unbutton Sylar's tattered shirt. He knitted his eyebrows and tilted his head. He was both profoundly bewildered and intrigued. This was not part of the plan. "I'm not a pervert." Peter informed him. "It was Noah's idea."

"So…" Sylar's deep voice rumbled, "Bennet's the pervert?" He wouldn't put it past him to get off on watching him die, but stripping him was just a sick fetish. He wondered if his ex-wife knew he liked watching bare chested men bleed to death after he'd shot them.

"Actually, I think he said it was Matt." Sylar glanced to the side and gave an almost imperceptible nod. That made more sense given the handcuffing and beating he took in the woods. Matt apparently liked it rough, but he didn't imagine it to go that deep. "Anyway, I got something else for you."

Maybe it was the tone of the previous conversation or maybe it was just stress, but his sly smirks and the way he was slowly unbuttoning his shirt made him realize that Peter was actually kind of an attractive man. He was secure enough in his own sexuality to admit it. In a mockingly sultry tone, he asked, "Oh yeah? What's that?"

Peter took a deep breath and dropped his head in an effort to keep from laughing. Once more, Sylar had chosen the most inopportune time to display his twisted humor. "Now who's the pervert?" He asked trying his damndest to keep a straight face. "Just tell me when to stop, ok?"

Sylar was confused. If he meant when he could stop fooling with his buttons like he had arthritis, then the answer would have been immediately, but ever so slowly he could feel an intense warmth pour into him and he realized what Peter was doing- he was keeping his promise. Somewhere along the way he had replicated Damian's ability and was using the last few seconds he had to give him his energy and it felt divine. His body soaked it up like a sponge in water and he craved more. He wanted it all until his own abilities were at full strength and he could turn his back on his destiny, but he knew he couldn't. He didn't want the soothing essence to stop, but it did when Peter noticed the bruises on his face fading before his eyes.

"Good luck, man." He sincerely nodded as he pushed aside both halves of the now undone shirt. "I'll be waiting for you on the other side." He reluctantly turned away for his designated red x and waited for the last person to arrive.

It seemed as though several minutes had passed while they stood waiting. During that time, some of the members of the gallery started to get antsy and impatient. They didn't want to kill anyone, but if there was no way out of it, they wanted to just get it over with already. "What the hell's going on?" Luke asked in a muffled whisper.

"TV time out." Noah replied sarcastically. "If this thing's being televised, you know it's bigger than the Super Bowl. Imagine what a 30 second spot would run."

"That's just sick." West shook his head. "But how much you wanna bet that this is Pay Per View? There's no way the networks are going to show this."

"Al Jezeera will. They show beheadings and everything." Matt reminded them.

Claire had heard enough. "Can you take this a little more seriously?" She hissed. "We're about to kill the guy who helped us win this war. Can you just show a little respect?"

"Thank you." Ando affirmed. Hiro looked past him and nodded his head as well. They too found the useless banter tasteless and disrespectful. Maybe they didn't admire Sylar, but he was about to lose his life for the cause he believed in- and for them. The minimum that decorum would dictate was to refrain from idle chat about corporate advertising and beheadings.

"You're right." Matt granted in a defeated tone. "That was out of line. I'm sorry."

"Me too." West hastily added.

Noah said nothing in his own defense, but he didn't really have time to. The door to the room opened and the occupant of the orange x found his station to the adoring cheers of the masses outside. Nathan did a double take at the sight of Sylar and wondered why he was only half dressed and looked like he'd been in a bar fight. However the man chose to spend his last hours on earth was up to him, but it would no doubt raise questions in the morning papers. He stood straight and summoned up his best courtroom voice. "Sylar, you have been found guilty of the crime of treason by the court and sentenced to death. As you no doubt know, the world is watching and some of them may want answers for why you did what you did. Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out?"

Several things ran through his mind and they ranged from a snarky, 'People in hell want ice water, but they don't get it' to a truthful, 'I was not given a fair trial, but if I am guilty in the eyes of my peers, then so be it' but in the end, he thought that the best thing to say was nothing at all. His silence would affirm the worst condemnations of his enemies, a tacit confession that he was indeed the source of all evil and suffering in the world and that when he took his last breath, the world would be safe once more. To supporters of the rebellion, his refusal would reaffirm what they already knew: that as a special he was not afforded the same rights and protections as ordinary citizens and that he was more or less being made an example of, so making any kind of statement in his defense would be futile. But as for those that had questions, he felt that his actions spoke for themselves and needed no explanation. He fought against what he believed to be an unfair system and in the end, all he could hope for was that it was worth the effort. From the first night on the cliffs of England to this very moment, he had certainly given it his all in every respect and he had no regrets.

Nathan gave him ample time to respond, but it was clear by the grim scowl on his face that he was going to pass on the offer. "Alright then. Do you wish to be blindfolded?" Again he was met with a determined stare. "I'll take that as a no." He conceded in a disappointed tone. He turned to Peter and asked, "Is your team ready to carry out the sentence?"

"Standing by, Sir." Peter acknowledged.

Nathan took one last look at Sylar lashed to his hitching post and gave him a tiny, yet immensely grateful nod for his service to the cause. "Proceed." He commanded before heading for the door. He didn't have the stomach to watch the culmination of all his schemes and plans. He couldn't make himself face the consequence of his choices. Sylar was the face of the rebellion because he couldn't be. He was out in the field, bleeding, dying, saving others, and leading them while he sat in his office living a duplicitous life. Sylar had done the unthinkable by stepping up and being the hero, and now he was going to die for all that Nathan had done- his apparent support of the system, his stoking of hatred and paranoia, his entire campaign against the very people he was trying to protect. There would be many dinners and appearances in celebration of his supposed achievement, and he would attend them wearing his best politician smile, but deep down he would always feel as though he'd slain his own brother.

"Ready your weapons." Peter commanded.

Sylar fought to contain the swell of anxiety that engulfed him. While he was never one to second guess himself, he was not above questioning the motives and intentions of others and he had plenty of cause for worry. Nathan and certainly Noah were both well known for their ability to change on a dime and without warning. What if Nathan's plan was to kill him all along? Noah certainly wouldn't have a problem with it. Peter supposedly instructed them not to shoot at his head, but what if they did just to try and get his kill spot? Even if they didn't, what if someone switched the ammo to S2 or one of them had a replacement gun loaded with it? He swallowed and looked to the ground so they wouldn't see the terror in his eyes. He was determined to die like a man with dignity and not give the bloodthirsty crowd the satisfaction of appearing frightened, even though he very much was.

Noah removed the safety switch from his gun and made an executive decision. He decided not to aim to the right or left of Sylar's heart as Peter had instructed him to. Rather, he was going to make his mark just above it so he could accomplish two things at once: sever the aorta so he would bleed out in seconds, and if his shot was well placed, damage his spinal cord and paralyze him from the upper chest down so he wouldn't feel anything. While he had faith in his own marksmanship and likely that of Matt, he couldn't begin to guess where everyone else's shots would land and that had the potential of prolonging the agony. People could say what they wanted, but Noah could find his way to being a merciful man if it was reasonable. He and Sylar did share a rather lengthy and tumultuous history, but despite it all he had come to respect him in a way. He was indeed the next step in the evolutionary process and if nothing else, he had his gratitude for saving his daughter from a similar fate when no one else could. That act alone merited his mercy. But he also did it out of respect for Maria. He was thankful that she wasn't alive to witness the spectacle that had grown around her favorite slave's demise, but it was because she favored him and it was in honor of her memory that he would try to do what he could so he wouldn't suffer any more than he had to.

"Aim."

Claire lined up the sights and peered down the barrel of her gun straight at Sylar's upper left abdomen. Dialed in as she was, she began to notice some disturbing details like the texture and tone of his skin. Either he was nervous or cold, but he had tiny little goose bumps that made the fine hairs on his body stand out like a soft glow. She also noticed the coarser, darker hair that gathered under his navel and dipped below the waistband of his bloodied jeans. Some older gunshot wounds were still angry red and she could see some of the bigger bluish purple veins that ran just under his skin. She found a certain sense of beauty in the long lines of his abdominal muscles and the way they flexed just slightly every time he took a breath. The more she looked, the more she realized that he wasn't some abstract concept or a shade of some boogeyman. He was, for the moment, a living, breathing person who had feelings and she was going to take that away with the squeeze of her trigger.

Suddenly she wanted to give him a second chance. Yes, he had violated her but he had also saved her life and rescued those she cared most about. He could have terrorized her if he truly was evil, but he never did. Rather than finding some sick pleasure in her fear of him, he seemed to regard her with a sense of tragic ambivalence as though he knew that the very sight of him made her sick, but he couldn't help it. She wanted to tap into her hatred for him, but she found that the well had gone dry. There was nothing to be done but to not think at all when she pulled the trigger. She had to pull back from all that she had seen and strip him of all his humanity in order to do her job. She needed him to be the abstract boogeyman and her hands began to tremble slightly.

Luke held his gun steady, but inside he was a mess. He may have been a liar and a traitor, but he was no killer. He may have been angry and hurt that Sylar didn't fall all over himself to show his gratitude, but when it came down to it he showed his mercy the only way he knew how: to restrain himself from killing him and taking his ability. Being trapped in the car with him for as long as he was must have been like putting a thick, juicy steak in front of a starving man and telling him he couldn't eat it. Sylar may not have been his idol anymore, but he still respected him and he couldn't bring himself to shoot him. He knew he couldn't. In his mind, Sylar still was, and probably always would be, the closest thing he had to a brother. It may not have been saying much and it came too late, but he regretted ever taunting Sylar about his father. He knew what it was like to be thrown away and neglected, but at least he had his mother who never gave up on him. Sylar had no one and was in the end, being executed by the only people who stayed in his life long enough to call him an acquaintance. He didn't want to pop a cap in Sylar because he didn't deserve it, but he was between a proverbial rock and hard place positioned as he was with Noah and West on either side. He decided his best option was to aim wide and purposely miss.

"Fire!"

The volley of seven gun blasts reverberated off the concrete walls and the air was heavy with the smell of gunpowder. It took less than two seconds, but for Sylar, it was almost mercifully instantaneous. It was not at all what he had expected. Having been shot before, he knew what incredible pain that it entailed and he wasn't excited about multiplying it by seven, but it was almost as though nothing had changed. He watched the blood pour from his wounds and he knew that most if not all had found their mark, but miraculously, he felt no pain. In fact, he felt nothing below his armpits and a very small smile found its way to his pale lips when he realized that he was paralyzed. One of the bullets had severed his spinal cord as it passed through, sparing him from the agonizing death he had feared. He began to feel dizzy and he struggled to keep his head from falling to his chest. Even though he knew it was the end, everything inside of him screamed for him to hang onto life every last second that he could and not give up. His throat began to spasm in one last effort to gasp for air, but his chest muscles remained still. His vision grew fuzzy, but he wasn't distressed. In his last seconds, he wasn't haunted by his fears or wracked with worry over what would become of him. Instead, he took comfort in the knowledge that it was all finally over and that for once, he got to be the hero.

Hiro held his firing position, even though he didn't pull his trigger. He had gone over it again and again in his head and he just couldn't see his way clear to go through with it. There was no honor in killing a wrongfully accused and convicted man. Sylar was guilty of a great many things, but he didn't start the war and he wasn't the man the public thought he was.

Ando watched the light fade from Sylar's eyes as he died and something within himself died with him. He never wanted to fight in the war and he certainly didn't want to kill anyone, yet he did his duty and took another man's life. It made him sad to think that they were only starting to see how great Sylar could be and he wondered if he could have ever truly become a hero. But now because of his actions, the world would never know and instead of ridding it of a scourge of evil, he may have help rob it of one of its greatest potential assets.

Damian was quite literally shell shocked for several reasons. First and foremost, the sound of that many guns being fired at once in a closed space reminded him of the hallway at the facility after he was rescued. Secondly, it triggered memories of his own attack and he wondered how the men who shot him could tolerate doing such a thing to another person. But most importantly, he hadn't really prepared himself for what watching another human being shot would do to him. The light pattern of crimson blood spray that surrounded Sylar and stained the front of his pants like a crimson apron was graphically stark against the whitewashed walls and the way he slumped when his knees buckled was pitiful. But it was the way he desperately and repeatedly gasped when his lungs fought for air that made Damian look away. He couldn't watch another person suffer that way. He hadn't really known Sylar that long, but despite what everyone said about him, he was the one who taught him how to use his ability. He freed him from his cell and treated him like a colleague. He was all powerful, he didn't have to give him the time of day, but he did. For whatever reason, he didn't ignore him the way everyone else did. He didn't know if he got it from his glasses, but it was as though he somehow understood his life perfectly and although he may not have always agreed with him, he did respect him. He was so shocked that it took Emma grabbing him by the arm and pulling him to snap him back to reality and realize that Peter was standing next to Sylar and motioning for them to come forward.

Emma put on a brave face as she approached Sylar's riddled body. She kept her eyes closed for the duration so she wouldn't have to watch the horror unfold, but being up close and personal as she was, it was hard to avoid. Unfortunately for her and Damian, it was about to get even more personal. She placed the stethoscope's arms in her ears and pretended to listen for a heartbeat or breath sounds, although even if they were present she could never hear them. But she knew Sylar was gone by the complete absence of color that his heart should have produced. Where there once was a vibrant and strong pulse of warm hues, the area surrounding his heart was blank and devoid. She removed a penlight from her pocket and inspected one of his dark eyes. She jumped slightly when his pupil unexpectedly responded and constricted, although it was slow and likely a simple residual biological action- or so she hoped. "He's dead." She stated decisively. Outside, the crowd erupted into a frenzy.

Damian dug into his coat pocket and removed the stethoscope he borrowed from Peter. He mimicked as closely as he could Emma's actions from everything such as placement of the listening device to how long she seemed to listen. Sylar's chest was absolutely silent and still, although a small amount of blood continued to trickle out of the hole above his heart and run down his torso. He too noticed the slight movement in Sylar's other eye and although he wasn't positive, he didn't think it was normal and he tried not to look too disturbed about it even if it raised the specter that he somehow wasn't really dead. "Time of death," he announced as he looked at his watch, "9:17 pm."

The masses greeted his proclamation with a deafening roar. It was all over. Sylar was dead.


	28. Body of Evidence

**A/N: Welcome to ayano fuuzuka and DreamingStorm! Glad you could join us! For those that might be a little squeamish, you probably don't want to eat during this. I tried not to get too graphic, but I always aim for realism. Cheers!**

**Chapter 28- Body of Evidence**

"_Death is the liberator of him whom freedom cannot release, the physician of him whom medicine cannot cure, and the comforter of him whom time cannot console."_

_-Charles Caleb Colton_

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

It was all like a bad dream, but it still didn't feel real. Not when Sylar languidly fell forward into Damian's arms when Peter released the belt that held him or even as he, Peter and Emma wrangled his limp body into a sleek, black body bag to be carried away. It was as if at any moment a director somewhere would yell 'cut' and Sylar would sit up and everything would be ok again- but he didn't move, not even a fraction even as Damian zipped the bag shut over his pale face and he was concealed in darkness as through it were his grave.

"Wait." Claire's trembling voice called as they lifted his body onto a gurney. She looked around nervously, hoping that at least one other person felt as she did. "Do we get to say goodbye?" She had always just assumed that Sylar would always be in her life in one way or another, but now that he was gone, his absence felt absolutely vacuous. She never really realized what a large space he had occupied until he was no longer there to fill it. No one did.

Peter seemed a little surprised that they were all taking it as hard as they were. While he had come to see that Sylar wasn't the big bad wolf everyone thought he was, he wasn't aware that anyone else was privy to his more human capacity and although he wasn't sure if their sadness was the result of Sylar's passing or their own guilt, he did recognize their need for closure of some kind. He unzipped the bag to just past his collarbones so they could say their goodbyes without having to look at the gaping wounds they had caused. He stepped back to allow whoever wanted to take the opportunity to say what they needed to say in relative privacy.

Claire knew that Peter would understand even if she wasn't certain anyone else would. She couldn't claim to have insight to her own strange compulsion to see him one last time, but she pushed up her face shield and slowly approached his still body. She hesitantly reached out, her shaking hand hovering just over his face and she felt a pang of guilt that he looked strangely serene about it all. His long eyelashes rested on his pale cheeks and Claire wondered as she looked at him just what she'd helped destroy. She wanted to touch him, to try and convey her sorrow and remorse as though he could somehow feel it, but she felt she had no right- not after what she had done. She wondered if he ever felt the same about her and she remembered the bittersweet reaction he had in Maria's lab when he accidently pulled her into his arms but abruptly let go with a semi shamed downward gaze. She let her hand drop and she smiled sadly down at him. "I never thought this was how it would be." She quietly confessed. "I thought it would just be you, me, and Peter until the end of time. Peter and I would live together in a cave while you lived by yourself on the other side of a ravine. I'd throw rocks at you. Peter wouldn't, but I would." She swallowed and bit her lip to keep her nerve. "But I guess that's not how it's going to be. I just wanted you to know that I was wrong about you. I think you were pretty brave to do what you did. Whatever life we will have after this, we'll owe it to you. Thank you." She plucked up the courage to lightly touch the black bag that encased him, but even that felt like an intrusion and she pulled her hand away.

Hiro and Ando approached after Claire had taken her turn and together they deeply bowed to the deceased man and silently recited prayers for his soul so it may be at peace. Although Sylar was not of their heritage, they still felt obligated to honor his spirit for his bravery in their custom least he wander the earth for all eternity causing havoc among the living. If he was dangerous when he was alive, they didn't want to imagine what he would be capable of unbound by the physical realm.

West and Luke bravely stepped up to the side of the gurney to pay their respects. After a few minutes of tense silence, West looked at his friend and gave him a pat on the back. "I'm sorry, man." He consoled. "This really sucks."

"I can't believe we killed him." He shook his head. "He's really dead, West. What the fuck was it all for?" Somehow he still couldn't reconcile the picture of perfect dominance and power that was Sylar when he was taking his well deserved revenge at the Jessup farm with the corpse in front of him. How could he have trusted Nathan and Noah so much?

West tried to think of something uplifting to say, he searched for some higher reason and purpose for what they had done, but he came up empty. "I don't know." He finally admitted with a heavy sigh. "But I have a hard time believing that we saved him from the barn just so he could die like this."

Luke's eyes were filled with desperate sorrow. "He's dead, West. There's nothing more to say. He's gone. We failed." He numbly shuffled away, rubbing his watering eyes. He didn't shoot him, but he felt just as guilty as if he had.

Noah and Matt hung back, declining to make any kind of public proclamation of their sorrow. Noah had to trust that Peter had something bigger planned and although he hated to be in the dark, he knew that sometimes it was just a necessity, so he resolved to wait and see what would come of it before falling over Sylar's cooling body weeping.

Matt, on the other hand, tried to push the whole affair from his mind the way he used to when he was a cop on the beat. He had been involved in shootings before, but he always got through it by believing that he was on the side of right and that in a way, the criminals were to blame. If they hadn't been breaking the law, he wouldn't have had to shoot at them. It was a little harder in Sylar's case because he wasn't a direct threat, but he did make a very long series of unfortunate choices which put him in the position that he was. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the blame the victim approach, but it was all he had at the moment. Bedsides, focusing on Sylar's highly illegal past kept him from thinking of the more calm and gentle person who encouraged him to find his own talent and join the war. Matt had a talent alright, and he ended up using it to kill him- probably not what he had in mind at the time.

Damian once again closed the zipper to the bag, leaving an inch or two open just in case his patient needed to breathe. Peter and Sylar both explained the healing ability thing to him and from what they said, he could spontaneously revive at any moment, scary as that would be for probably all involved. So far, there were no indications that he had returned to the world of the living, but if he did, it wouldn't exactly be a happy return with a body full of holes that were slow to heal and chest muscles that had lost sensation and refused to budge. Grim as it was, the likely outcome would be an almost endless cycle of awareness, some level of pain, and suffocation until his spinal cord could rewire itself enough to allow him to breathe. It was almost more horrific than being shot to death.

The entire thing reminded him of why working in the morgue at night creeped him out at first: a dead man suddenly comes to life on the autopsy table. It was every urban myth come to bear with the exception of him having sex with Sylar's dead body. He could only imagine that was part of the reason women never wanted to date him- they probably thought he was some kind of sex addict who raped dead people so he wouldn't get caught. Only seriously weird guys worked in morgues- at night, right? Although it may have contributed to his loneliness for a few years, his experience was about to pay off in a big way because he- the most unlikely of heroes- was tasked with helping Sylar and the rebellion pull off one of the biggest coup d'états in history. If it all went well, they would be right up there with D.B. Cooper and Deep Throat because like the real people behind the myths, the men and women involved would remain a mystery.

He, Peter, and Emma casually strolled down the same hall where a very living Sylar had passed only minutes before to put on the final stage of the production. Damian couldn't help but whistle nervously while he pushed the gurney along at a semi-leisurely pace. He didn't want to lollygag and have Sylar wake up to the inside of a body bag, but he didn't want to run as though he had a code blue patient he was trying to resuscitate, either. There was a lot more detail to being dead than he initially thought. They descended into the basement of the building in a freight elevator and found their way into an examination room- stark, sterile, and efficient. The smell of antiseptic and decay hung heavy in the air. He was a little worried that after a few years his skills might have become a little rusty, but as soon as he stepped into the brightly lit, chilly room it all came back to him as he put on his gown, gloves, shoe protectors, and face shield.

Damian began the examination the same way he had hundreds of others, but this time he was responsible for a person who would eventually come back alive and he felt the pressure to do the job, but not do it too well. He was sure there had to be limitations on Sylar's ability to heal his wounds, and being more or less dissected would surely put it to the test. He and Emma unzipped the bag and began the investigation while Peter, uncomfortably, documented the entire process by photographing each detail. He had the benefit of working with crime scene investigators as a paramedic, so he had a pretty good idea on what to look for. It was not a job he wanted, but it had to be done and the fewer outsiders they had in the room, the better. He could never objectify Sylar the way the investigators seemed to view their subjects, but he tried his best to tell himself that it was just a random person- one that he didn't know quite so well. It was the only way he could face what was to come.

He nearly dropped his camera, hissing a stressed "Shit!" that alarmed Damian and in turn, Emma. All along he had been carefully monitoring Sylar's thoughts and up to that point had noted nothing but silence. Although it was faint and very brief, he was almost positive he heard an echo of something…something almost desperate and frightened. After a quick glance around to make sure the coast was clear, Peter took a scalpel from a nearby tray and gently turned Sylar's head to the side. Damian and Emma watched in horror as Peter viciously plunged the sharp instrument deep into the back of Sylar's head and wrenched upward to break off the blade. He noted the look of sheer disgusted disbelief Emma wore on her face and his heart sank. She must have thought he was a heartless monster to do such a thing, but he held out his hand in a pleading manner, blood running down his palm from being cut, and her disbelief turned to wonder as she watched the wound close before her eyes. The gunshot wound in his thigh had healed the same way, but she didn't witness it as it happened and she simply couldn't believe what she was seeing. He glanced at his hand to see what she was staring at, but the cut was already gone and he had a point to prove. He pulled down his protective paper facemask so Emma could follow and gestured for them both to come in close. He pulled back one of Sylar's eyelids to reveal a solid, milky white sheen. "He's ok," he assured them, "I had to put him in suspension. He isn't aware of anything, but you can't remove the blade and the world can't see this." He pointed down at Sylar's white eye. If the masses thought he was evil before, he looked absolutely possessed and they all knew there would be no explaining that.

"We can glue them shut." Damian suggested. "I can act like I'm checking them out, but I can put a little skin glue on the edges of his eyelids to keep them closed."

"Good idea." He commended, gently closing Sylar's eyes and centering his head again. He reluctantly picked up his camera and photographed his subject from every angle to accurately capture the state of his body- from his torn and bloody clothing to the penetrating bullet wounds that riddled his body in a bluish purple scatter.

Emma and Damian pulled off his clothing and slid his body onto the cold stainless steel exam table, covering his hips with a folded white sheet as was the procedure. Even in death, there was a little dignity to be afforded even if he wasn't due any in the eyes of others on account of his being a branded traitor and a special. Emma collected a few strands of his thick hair with tweezers to place in a vial and drew blood samples while Damian gathered fingernail clippings and inked his fingers for prints. It was a task he had performed many times before, but there was just something unsettling about holding Sylar's hand in his own. He found himself being extra vigilant about not cutting too close to the quick when on other occasions it may not have mattered as much. Emma gently rinsed his body, flushing the pink tinged water down the drain at the end of the table so that they could have a clear look at the damage.

"Caucasian male," Damian hummed to himself while he scribbled away on the intake sheet, "25-35 years of age, short black hair, brown eyes." He looked up at Emma and asked, "Do you see any identifying features? Tattoos or anything?"

Emma looked at him blankly. She knew he had said something because she saw his facemask move, but she couldn't see his lips. It was one detail they had overlooked and she glanced at Peter in a mild panic. Peter, being the photographer, decided he didn't need the same precautions as they did because he wouldn't be touching Sylar…again anyway. Even if he did, he was the one behind the camera and no one would know that he had pulled his facemask down so he could quietly repeat everything Damian said. She read his lips and gave a quick nod in understanding as she looked over his body. "No tattoos, but there is a scar approximately three inches in length to the left of the midline on the upper abdomen. There are also…" she paused to count the devastation, "9 apparent gunshot wounds of various placement and ages on the torso. Blunt force trauma to the head and face, and bruising on the wrists bilaterally."

Damian faithfully recorded every detail on the sheet. He knew that the document, along with Peter's pictures, would be the object of scrutiny from the president to any bored housewife who wanted to download it, so he did his best to make it as accurate as possible. Sylar was in rough shape, but he'd had worse. He once had a case of a man who stepped into the path of a train. It took him and the pathologist almost two days to put everything back together and figure out a way to document it all. Those were things he tried hard not to think about at night as he tried to fall asleep, but he fully expected to start having nightmares again.

He put his paperwork down after he had written all that he could and picked up the remaining scalpel on the tray and stood looking down at Sylar's body for a minute or two. Emma and Peter both looked at him expectantly, but they understood the delay. It was a hard thing to force himself to cut open a person that somehow wasn't quite dead, and even though he knew that Sylar was unaware of what was being done to him, it didn't make it any easier. It took a moment to quell the innate revulsion he felt at intentionally harming another person, but he slowly lifted his hand and made the deep incision that parted the skin and muscle from both of Sylar's shoulders down the chest and abdomen all the way to the pubic bone. There was no blood, just slightly graying skin, shockingly white connective tissue, and deep red muscle. His hands shook as both he and Emma worked to separate the tissue from bone until they were able to open the flaps like the hinges of a door to the thoracic cavity. It was absolutely surreal to see Sylar laying as calmly as though he were sleeping having been flayed as he was. Damian cut through his patient's ribs with a bolt cutter, each snip making a sickening crunching sound as the bone gave way and Emma removed the breastplate to reveal his inner organs.

The cadaver she worked on in med school had been stored in formaldehyde and the tissues were wrinkled and grey. Sylar's body was fresh and his liver was a beautiful reddish brown and his intestines looped and swirled in a healthy pink tangle. She knew she shouldn't have been so fascinated with his inner workings, but she couldn't help but marvel at what a feat of engineering the body was and aside from the internal damage caused by being shot, his was among the healthiest she had seen. His chest cavity was another story. Every inch of available space was filled with pooled blood and free of constraints, it ran down his sides like a cascade in a torrent of thick, semi-congealed crimson.

"Wow." Damian muttered as he watched the seemingly never ending stream.

"Aortic transection." Emma nodded. "The pressure of the blood gushing out of his heart into the pleural space would have suffocated him. It probably felt like he had an elephant sitting on his chest." Damian used a ladle to scoop out as much as remained in an effort to determine how much blood had spilled into his chest while Emma collected the bullets she could find and deposited them into an evidence jar.

Peter snapped away and tried not to look too closely. He wasn't squeamish, but with every organ they separated, removed, weighed, and tiny slices made for slides, he had to wonder exactly how Sylar was going to recover. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it would feel like to wake up at a moment when every organ was disjointed from the next, muscles and nerves separated and the sheer amount of work his body would have to do to put it all back together. He knew that Sylar was a master planner, but he hoped that he had something in mind to deal with it.

When his body cavity was emptied to a shell, the investigation turned to his head. As promised, Damian opened each eye and dabbed a thin line of skin glue onto the edges of his lids while Peter photographed from well chosen angles to hide the fact that Sylar had no pupils or irises.

Emma took charge of making the scalp incision, cutting a line from behind Sylar's ear, across his forehead and to the top of his other ear and she carefully peeled back the skin to expose his skull. Peter swallowed dryly. There was something about the cranial examination that he found ironic and he temporarily pulled his facemask back up when Damian took the semicircular electric saw and cut into the bone. A small cloud of fine white dust filled the air along with a strange burning smell as the saw chewed at the bone. Emma used the equivalent of a hammer and chisel to pry the cap off and Peter couldn't help but look at Sylar's brain as if it was its own entity.

Damian and Emma didn't know of Sylar's past beyond the fact that he was a killer nor of the way he dispatched his victims, so they couldn't fully appreciate the moment or its significance. Peter gazed into the cranial cavity at the densely folded soft pink tissue with dark blood vessels creeping across the surface like a spider web and he couldn't help but wonder where in all the crevices his personality lie. Contained somewhere in the three pound organ was everything that made Sylar what he was: his memories, his intelligence, his emotions, the way he made decisions, his imagination and his preferences. Somewhere deep down in there was Gabriel Gray- alongside Sylar. He found himself wishing that the parts were clearly labeled so he could reach in and remove the bits that were Sylar, freeing Gabriel of the burden and guilt of the monster that cohabited the space, but he knew it didn't work that way. Still, as he stepped back to take a picture, he couldn't help but understand the killer's fascination with brains. "Don't take it out." He instructed Damian. "We can't risk dislodging the blade." Aside from the obvious, he simply didn't know if Sylar's brain could regenerate after it had been removed. It didn't seem likely, because even regens had a kill spot that once activated there was no coming back from. The photos of his empty skull case would just have to be photoshopped and he would leave that to Rebel.

After the last picture was taken, the trio set to work putting Sylar back together like a model airplane, complete with glue. Every cut had to be lined up, every organ replaced and reattached as best they could in an effort to help him with his regeneration when he did wake up. His intestines, predictably, were the most problematic. Like a map, they never refolded as neatly as it started and it seemed almost an impossibility to put the nearly 28 feet of coiled tissue back in the same way it came out. They were thankful that the murky, pasty goo that remained of his peach pie dinner didn't have a chance to exit his stomach, or else things could have been a lot messier. They glued his scalp together and closed the incision that ran the length of his torso with staples, making what looked like a zipper to a macabre costume he could simply slip out of. Together, they pushed and cajoled his tattered and bloody clothing back on, leaving his shirt open just as it was when he died.

They stood around his body, looking down at him with a sense of unease about what they had just done. "Do you really think it will work?" Emma asked skeptically. She may have watched Peter heal before her very eyes, but she couldn't imagine the same process on such a large scale.

Damian scoffed as he pulled off his facemask. "It's a little late now, but you said he'd be fine, right Peter?"

Peter kept his eyes locked on the pale body before him and he bit his lip. "I hope so."

"Wait, you _hope_ so?" Damian hissed. "I thought you said he could heal himself!" He was dismayed when he could no longer see any sparkles emanating from Sylar.

"He can." Peter quietly reassured him. "But I don't think it's ever been done like this. I certainly haven't and I don't think Claire has." He stopped short when he remembered swooping in at the last minute to keep her from getting hit by a train and he wondered if that was her first dance with a locomotive. "I'll call her. Anyway, he certainly thought he could do it, I'm just not sure how it's going to go."

"Oh my god." Emma sighed, taking in Sylar's pale face and blue lips. What if they had injured his body beyond repair? What if he was something like alive and he could have been resuscitated somehow, but they had actually killed him? She lightly placed her hand on his forehead and his skin felt undeniably cold. How could she have let Peter talk her into such a thing? What had they done?


	29. Stand By Me

**Chapter 29- Stand By Me**

"_Confidentiality is a virtue of the loyal, as loyalty is the virtue of faithfulness."_

_-Edwin Louis Cole_

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It was bitterly cold and the grey skies spit light snow that swirled and blew wildly in the wind, but neither the crowd nor Peter paid it any mind. It was early, very early but most of those in attendance had never left the National Mall from the jubilant events of the night before and yet even more arrived to stand in line for their chance to see Sylar's body behind the thick, clear glass box that contained it. The material that encased him was supposedly bomb and bullet proof to discourage any further mutilation by those who felt as though not enough had been done to ensure that he really was dead, and that was what made Peter brave the elements for as long as the public viewing was to last. He promised Sylar he would stay with him at all times and he meant it.

He shivered slightly as he watched the slow parade of people file past Sylar as he lay perfectly still, all his wounds on display for the public's morbid fascination. Some took pictures, some cursed him, and others just glared at him in a silent rage, but once in awhile someone would actually touch the glass by his face and Peter wondered if they were rebel sympathizers or if they were specials as well, come to say goodbye to what they considered a hero of sorts.

It was decided that a public viewing would be held as a last attempt at quelling any rumors that some trickery had taken place. It was Nathan's hope that if several thousand people could see him up close, then it would go a long way in convincing them that he really was gone. It was a last minute arrangement that Sylar did not agree to, but as he was in suspension, the extra few days would pass the same as if it were seconds- time had no meaning for him. The viewing was held outside to accommodate the sheer number of people that were expected to attend and it would be a 24 hour affair, but it was also a tacit reminder of his status as a special. Even though Nathan hoped to change the country's perception of those with abilities, there were many that still thought of them as less than human and to have his body resting inside one of the federal buildings would be putting him on par with heads of state. The country just wasn't ready for that yet, so he was left outside like a stray dog but he wasn't alone. Peter was there to watch over him and he faithfully saw to his duties no matter how cold it was or how long it took.

Several feet away, the massive screen that served as a backdrop replayed Sylar's execution and Nathan's victory speech along with a well edited mix of news reports of Sylar's alleged misdeeds leading up to the event every hour on the hour to keep the waiting crowd entertained. Even though Peter had heard the loop four times already, he still felt sick at hearing his own voice give the command to shoot and the sound of gunfire made him jump slightly. He had no desire to watch the spectacle, he was there in the execution room and saw it himself, but he did glance up a few times just to see exactly what was broadcast and from what he saw, it looked as though the entire thing was shown live just as Nathan said it would be. Peter was dismayed because every time the finale played and Sylar was pronounced dead, it still elicited a cheer from the crowd as if they wanted him to die over and over. Apparently once wasn't enough, and disturbing as it was, he was even more upset by the fact that parents held their children and led them by the hand to see the body of the bad man. It concerned Peter that there would be an entire generation of kids with this as one of their early memories and in his mind it set a bad precedent to be celebrating a person's death no matter who they were. It only served to cheapen the value of life and make the prospect of equality of specials more daunting if it was ok to be happy that one was dead.

He yawned and shook his head to wake himself up. He tried to take a nap after Sylar's autopsy because he knew he would need to stay alert for a long time to come, but he found it difficult. It wasn't the smell of the exam room that kept him awake, he had slept in hospitals before when he had double and triple shifts so the sterile, strong smell of antiseptic was nothing new to him. It wasn't even that he was alone in the room with a man who had been murdered and mutilated in the name of national security. Damian and Emma left him to meet up with Hiro so he could take them to a safe house nearby, leaving him to see the plan through to the end. As he sat in the darkened room with a man who he hoped wasn't dead, he summoned up Damian's ability and looked closely. He hoped that in the dimmed light, he would be able to see some tiny residual quiver of energy surrounding Sylar, but he didn't. He had about the same amount of life force as the cold table that held him. It wasn't the smell or being alone with a body that kept him from sleeping. He couldn't sleep because he was wracked with worry and guilt. What if Sylar was wrong? Just because he was a genius didn't make him infallible, it was possible that he had overestimated his own ability or underestimated the amount of damage that a medical exam would do to his body. Falling over the wall with Sylar was about the worst he'd ever been injured and that was bad enough, but it paled in comparison to what Sylar faced and he had no way of knowing if it would work. So, he phoned a friend.

Claire found Peter a few feet away from Sylar's display case where he was still wearing his agent uniform and pretending to be part of the security detail that made sure the masses didn't somehow break into the case and tear Sylar apart in a mad frenzy. He looked exhausted the way he used to when he worked long shifts trying his best to save the citizens of New York from accidents and mishaps or even on occasion at Maria's when he put in long hours tending to a never ending list of tasks and seeing that the needs of all his fellow slaves were met. There were times when he would run himself ragged trying to help everyone else even if it came at a great cost to him and this looked like one of those instances. She was just glad that he had her healing ability to keep him from dropping dead. "Hey," she greeted her uncle quietly as she uneasily glanced back at Sylar's body, "is that really him?"

"Yeah," he nodded as he gave a sad chuckle, "who did you think it was?"

"I don't know! I thought maybe you switched his body or maybe that's a mannequin." She shrugged. She realized how childish it must have sounded, but it wouldn't have been the first time he had pulled the wool over their eyes. "I guess I just can't believe that he's really dead. He always seemed to find a way to cheat death no matter what, so I just assumed…" she gave a hopeless gesture to her dead comrade and tried to ignore the man who spit on the glass and unleashed an angry, profanity laced tirade against her former nemesis.

Peter's hazel eyes twinkled mischievously and his lips curled into his endearing lopsided smile. "He might." He admitted in a conspiratorial whisper.

Claire snapped to attention and narrowed her eyes. "I knew it!" She hissed. "I knew you guys had something up your sleeve." She wanted to belt her uncle for making her and the others believe that they had killed Sylar, but she knew him well enough to realize that there had to be a damn good reason for his deception. She wouldn't have said the same about either of her fathers, but Peter was a different story. "But how did he get around the S2? Is there some kind of antidote or something?"

"There never was any. Your guns just had regular ammunition." He lowered his voice and confessed. "He's in suspension right now, but I called you because I know that you…" he paused to think of a tactful way to phrase it without seeming too condescending, although she knew how he felt about the whole thing, "_tested_ the limits of your ability. Sylar thought he could survive an autopsy." To her credit, Claire didn't really react as much as he thought she would. There was no scrunched up, disgusted faces, no looks of horror, no questioning the sanity of his assumption- only a quick sideways glance to Sylar and a slow nod.

She didn't notice before, but now that he mentioned it and she looked closely at his body, she did see a row of shiny staples holding his skin together and it only made her wonder about the man in the box. He knew he was going to be carved up and she knew that his healing ability had to have been weakened when he was shot because she watched him bleed and not heal to any appreciable degree. He saw his fate clearly and still met it knowing what lie ahead. No matter what she may have thought about him before, she had to admit it took some serious stones to pull it off. "He might if he had his full abilities." She replied hesitantly. "I woke up on an autopsy table once, but here I am."

"Wait, what?" Peter asked distressed. "When did this happen?"

She looked up at him, realizing that her nonchalant remark was a bit of a slip. She'd never told anyone what happened. "It was a long time ago." She sighed. "Before I even knew you existed, but it was how I knew to take the glass out of the back of your head after Sylar nearly killed you."

Peter pulled her in close and hugged her. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for her to wake up under such horrifying circumstances. "I'm sorry that happened to you, Claire." He said sincerely even though he didn't really feel any fear or sadness from her. It seemed she had gotten over it long ago and it reminded him once more of how resilient she really was.

She didn't need his comfort, but she took it anyway. She wasn't upset about her unfortunate incident, but there were several more recent events that troubled her mind and she held onto his warm embrace, hopeful that after all that had been said and done, someday soon they could all live freely and it would all be ok again. She wanted so desperately to believe it.

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It was well past midnight when Peter unexpectedly had another visitor. Mohinder smiled lightly as he offered Sylar's bodyguard a steaming hot cup of coffee to ward off the chill of the night, if only for a little while. Peter accepted the gift with a grateful smile. "Didn't think I'd see you here." He admitted.

"Neither did I." He laughed, glancing around at the long lines that hadn't seemed to diminish in the slightest. The area had been decorated with all the trimmings of the holidays: green wreaths, red bows, and the trees had been wrapped with white lights with Sylar's body in the middle of it all like an unwrapped present. "It's like a morbidly grotesque holiday gift to the world." He noted dryly. "I don't believe I'll ever view this time of year quite the same again."

It never really occurred to Peter, but the whole thing did seem horribly out of context. He took a sip of his coffee and laughed. Sylar would get a kick out of it, no doubt. Not only to be so inappropriate, but to ruin it for everyone by coming back to life- even if he had to be quiet about it. It was Sylar's version of coal and fruitcake rolled all into one for a perfectly twisted Christmas present. He could almost hear him laughing about it and see the evil smirk on his face.

Mohinder calmly looked away from the huge screen that replayed the violence to signal another hour had passed. "I didn't watch it on the television. I couldn't, but it's nearly unavoidable it seems."

"You did what you thought was right, Mohinder." Peter reassured him. "I don't think anyone blames you for that. Honestly, I think there were a few people who wished they'd taken the same path."

"Are you one of them?" He asked mildly. "I know you well, Peter, and I know that this," he gestured to the screen that showed Sylar tied to his post waiting to be killed, "is not who you are. It never has been like you to participate in such an abhorrent spectacle."

"You did what you had to, and so did I." He replied a little tersely. "I still am."

Mohinder's eyes went wide before he squinted them a second later in suspicion. "And what does that mean? You still are what?" Peter took another swig of his coffee and tilted his head as if to say 'come on, you know' as he briefly smirked. "No." Mohinder gasped in horror as he forced himself to look at Sylar's injured corpse. "But how is it possible?" Sylar had beaten the odds before, but nothing of that magnitude.

"You know how he is." He nodded in amusement. "All part of the plan."

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The sun was just peeking over the horizon when Noah made the trek across the crowded park. Peter was nearly dead on his feet, prompting Noah to smile down at him. "I have a message from your brother." He informed him, the reds and oranges of the sunrise glinting off his glasses. "He would have come himself, but I told him it wasn't the best idea. It's not like he wouldn't be noticed."

"I know." He nodded. Given the nature of his job, it always seemed that way. For the past few years most of his communication with his brother had been through other people and it didn't look like that was going to change in the foreseeable future.

"I know I'm wasting my breath, but here goes." He sighed hopelessly. "He wanted to know how long you planned on staying out here. He said Sylar's remains do not need a babysitter and you'll freeze your balls off if you insist on camping out until this is all over."

Peter looked blankly at him because it was just too strange to hear his brother's tone coming out of Noah's mouth. He couldn't imagine Noah ever commenting on another man's testicles for any reason, but Nathan would. "It's not his remains." He said distastefully. "And I'm staying out here until it's time to go home. He shouldn't worry about my balls. If I freeze them off, I'll grow more."

Noah seemed both amused and disturbed by the very real fact that he indeed could if the situation ever came up. "Well, I'm just the messenger." He watched the screen with all the excitement of watching paint dry and it made Peter cringe a little. He didn't seem bothered in the slightest by the larger than life gore fest. "You know, I watched very closely and I couldn't figure it out."

"Figure what out?"

"I know you two were up to something, but I can't figure out what. He bled like he didn't have his ability to heal."

"That's because he didn't." Well, not entirely, anyway.

"And it was a pretty good job of acting like he was suffocating there at the end." He glanced down at Peter and stated matter of factly, "I've seen people suffocate before. I know what it looks like."

Peter didn't doubt him in the slightest. "He wasn't acting." He said sadly. "He really did."

If the thought of someone drowning in their own blood gave Noah pause, he didn't show it. "I also viewed the autopsy report this morning. No doubt some of it was faked, but the question is, how much?" He asked mentally matching what was on the report with the body. There were very few if any discrepancies that he could find.

"Just the cranial exam." He admitted. "We didn't take out his brain. Rebel faked the photos and Damian and Emma just said there were no abnormalities."

"Saying his brain is normal would raise suspicion from anybody." Noah scoffed. "But if he was shot without his regenerative ability, suffocated to death, and was autopsied almost 100% correctly, what's the catch? Because you know that I don't believe he's really dead. He would never agree to be a martyr. You have to have a conscience for that."

"Didn't you tell me once that he tried to commit suicide?" Peter asked playing devil's advocate. "Did you ever think that maybe he was tired of the running, tired of always being hunted by people like you, the company, Nathan's men, anyone who could sell him into the black market for a buck? Maybe he felt guilty about the people he has killed, maybe he didn't want to be the person he had become anymore and this was his way out." He stopped to see the flicker of doubt in HRG's steely blue eyes. "Maybe he let us do what he couldn't."

A slow, cold smile crept across his lips. "You might have had me if it weren't for the fact that I talked to Claire and she told me there was more to the story and if I didn't know that Sylar isn't capable of remorse."

"He is." Peter challenged. "You're wrong." He didn't care what anyone thought. He knew Sylar could be a better person, was a better person, and he would continue to remind anyone who would listen. He might have seemed crazy to defend Sylar, but he didn't care. He had a responsibility to him, to himself, and to Maria to help make it happen. Nathan was asking the country to change their minds and challenge their misconceptions, the least Noah and the others could do was to start in their own backyard.

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"How long have you been out here, man?" Matt asked stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep warm.

"I don't know." Peter responded lazily. "What time is it?" He knew it was after 5 pm because the sun had set again, but the hourly death clock had lost all meaning to him. He simply became numb to the graphic display after so long and had lost count of how many times the same images had been replayed.

"8:15." He answered, trying not to let his teeth chatter. "Seriously. You can't stay out here like this. I know you feel guilty about what happened, we all do, but you have to eat or sleep sometime."

"I will….later." He halfheartedly promised, keeping his gaze fixed on the clear box ahead of him. It was utterly disgusting, but the layers of spit that people hurled at Sylar had frozen into a thick layer of opaque ice and he couldn't look away.

Matt couldn't stand to see him as he was. It looked as though he was as dead as Sylar, but at least he had enough common sense to lay down, unlike Peter. "Are you hungry?" He asked worried. "There's a food truck a little down the way. I'll go buy you a hamburger or slice of pizza or something."

Peter perked up a little, thankful for the offer and the act of kindness. "That would be great, thanks." He was starving. He had remained more or less in the same spot since the beginning, only sneaking away when he had to go to the bathroom and he couldn't hold it any longer. Mohinder's coffee felt wonderfully warm at the time, but it did send him sprinting for the port-a-potty far more often than he wanted to.

"Sure." Matt eagerly agreed. "Be right back." There were several options available, but he chose a double cheeseburger because it seemed like the most massive object on the menu and he wasn't sure when Peter would get the chance to eat again. He knew from living with him at Maria's that he wasn't a particularly picky eater, he would at least try just about anything that Mohinder whipped up, even if no one really knew what it was. He found Peter standing exactly where he's left him and handed him his dinner while he tucked into a gargantuan slice of cheese pizza. "So why are you out here?" He asked curiously. "Afraid he's going to get up and run away?"

"I promised him I would." He said between bites.

It seemed like an odd request for a dying man, but he wasn't there to criticize or speak ill of the dead. "What's going to happen to him after this? Is the government going to do some kind of mad scientist experiments on him?" What he was really wondering was if he was going to be cremated. It sounded like something they would do to him just to ensure that he really was dead. Just digging a hole to dump his body into was too risky. They knew he would somehow get all Jason Voorhees on their asses.

"I'm going to take him home."

"Home?" Matt asked confused. "What, like New York or something? Does his family have a plot there?" He wondered if Sylar even had a family to bury him…

"I'm going to take him somewhere quiet for awhile so he can rest." He explained with a satisfied nod. "I think he deserves it."

Matt gave a nervous laugh. "I think he's pretty well rested. It doesn't get much more relaxed than dead." He glanced uneasily at his companion. "Unless he's not dead. He isn't, is he?" He asked dreadfully. Peter snickered while Matt scowled. "You're a bastard." He scolded. "Give me back my sandwich."

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By midmorning the next day, the crowds had finally began to thin out. While not everyone got to see what they came to see, the park rangers decided to pull the plug on the freak show that had overtaken the nation's gathering place for the past three days and ushered throngs of disappointed onlookers off the grounds. Peter was the only person left amid all the blowing garbage and drifting light snow. The game was over now. There was no more reason to hide his ability, no more reason to let Sylar lay alone in the cold. He had both faithfully executed their duties and it was time for rest. He ripped a panel of the thick glass off and sent it flying with a flick of his finger and he reached inside to touch Sylar's cold wrist. "It's over." He told his partner with a small smile, "It's time to go home."

He took them to the same little cabin deep in the woods where the rebellion's ultimate plan was hatched. He positioned Sylar laying on the couch so he could be near the raging fire he had built in the fireplace to help warm him. His long legs hung slightly over the end, but he hoped it wasn't too uncomfortable and he covered him with a blanket both to keep him warm and to block his view of his terrible wounds. It wasn't like Sylar didn't know that he'd been shot several times or that he had been cut open, but Peter felt that maybe it would be a little less traumatic for him if he didn't see it.

He gathered the supplies he felt he needed and sat on the coffee table across from his patient, trying to anticipate everything that might go wrong so he could act quickly. He had saved Sylar from medical disaster before, he reminded himself, he could do it again. Sylar held up his end of the bargain, now he had to. He picked up his pliers and tuned Sylar's head to the side in search of the hidden scalpel blade that separated him from the world of the living. He found a small corner of bent metal amidst Sylar's tangled, dark hair and he grabbed a hold of it, slowly pulling until the blade was free. He waited with baited breath for something…anything to happen.

Sylar lay perfectly still, not so much as a muscle fiber twitched. Peter called up Damian's ability and where there was no sign of life, a slight shimmer rippled over the parts of his body that he could see, but it was very faint and weak. He concentrated hard to listen to his thoughts and it was only this that tipped him off that Sylar had returned. Sylar didn't move because he couldn't. Three quarters of his body was still paralyzed and the rest was too cold and stiff to budge. The easiest thing would have been for him to open his eyes, but he tried and was panicked that he couldn't- he couldn't see and he didn't know where he was. Trapped in his own body, he wondered if he was actually dead.

"Sylar," Peter called in an urgent yet comforting tone, "you aren't dead. We had to glue your eyes shut. I can dissolve the glue, but…" he picked up the bottle of acetone and a gauze pad he had prepared, "I'm not going to lie to you. This is going to hurt." If Sylar had any thoughts on the matter, he didn't think them loud enough that Peter could hear. Although it confused him at first, he realized that Sylar was unconscious again, probably because he couldn't breathe on his own. He took the opportunity to scour his eyelids with the harsh solvent and give him a few mouth to mouth breaths that he hoped would sustain him a little longer before he regained consciousness. He knew that Sylar was a pragmatic man that could handle just about anything in the name of necessity, but he was reasonably sure he wouldn't have tolerated the life saving procedure in a full state of awareness. Paralyzed or not, he would have found a way to resist.

It was a helpless, hopeless situation for awhile with Sylar waking, trying to contain his anxiety and fight off the rising level of pain he felt as his body slowly regenerated before being pulled back into the darkness of unconsciousness because his circulatory system hadn't fully connected to get oxygen rich blood to his brain long enough to sustain awareness. Peter would have given him CPR to help create mechanical pressure to move his blood, but what precious little he hadn't lost after being shot was slowly leaking out of his bullet wounds once more. To further complicate things, he couldn't give him chest compressions because all of his ribs had been cut during the autopsy. If he attempted, he would only succeed in crushing his heart and lungs because the protective flexible chest plate could offer no resistance. Sylar was suffering immensely and there was no way he could help alleviate it- at least not with his medical training. He did have one intervention that he hoped would help, and once more he used Damian's power to push the vital energy that Sylar needed out of his body and into his. He felt it flow easily and quickly from him because it was difficult not to feel overwhelming compassion for the man who was in brutalizing physical and psychological torment.

Sylar was in immense pain, and he was terrified. It reminded him of Level 5, but infinitely far worse than anything Bennet could do to him. He wanted to scream in agony, or beg for mercy from a god who he stopped believing in long ago, or simply weep in distress, but he forced himself to do what he always had: not react. It was almost an involuntary reflex to overwhelming circumstances and he had learned early on that any reaction, be it fear or defiance, fed into his captor's desire for more, so he tightly controlled his every human instinct even though he knew Peter wasn't the enemy. Some habits simply could not be broken. But when Peter began to give him his warm, comforting energy freely, it slowly began to soothe his anguish and ease his pain by forcing his own ability to heal to pick up the pace. Gradually, feeling began to return to his lower half and he could feel his heart pumping blood through his veins, filling his limbs with heat and nutrients. Peter's power was almost like a drug- a mild upper that quieted his mind and made him feel almost content despite the pain. He wondered if energy was infused by traits of the person giving it, because he could imagine that Peter felt that way all the time and he found himself slightly envious. He imagined his own energy to be cold and tense.

Peter kept up the flow of energy even though he didn't know how much Sylar needed. He didn't think he would explode or anything, but there had to be some limit. He didn't ask because when Sylar was finally able to clench the blanket tight and turn himself onto his side facing the softly crackling fire without any kind of assistance, he scanned his patient's thoughts. Sylar had buried himself in the blanket with bloodied clothes and sharp, ejected staples, squeezing his burning eyes shut tight and curled into the fetal position. Even though the remaining pangs of discomfort and cold stabbed at him, he could finally rest knowing that it was all over and that he finally felt something like peace.


	30. Saying Goodbye

**Chapter 30- Saying Goodbye **

"_I can't help this longing, comfort me  
>I can't hold it all in, if you won't let me<em>

_Heaven holds a sense of wonder, and I wanted to believe  
>That I'd get caught up when the rage in me subsides"<em>

"_Silence" –Delirium_

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Peter had no trouble finding Sylar, but it wasn't like it was much of a challenge. Not many people lurked in cemeteries after dark, but he understood that it wasn't one of his mind games- he was there because even though a year had gone by since the end of the war, he still had to be careful about being out in public least he be recognized and Nathan's carefully crafted plan for which they all fought and suffered for would be for naught. Even if his imposed isolation from the wider society were not an absolute necessity, Sylar just wasn't the kind of person who had time for such things anymore. The war had undeniably changed him as it had all of them in ways large and small and he wasn't the vindictive, purely evil force that he once was. He was still one to be wary of and a person who had yet to be fully trusted by those who just couldn't help but recall his past, but Peter was at least willing to have the audacity to hope that just maybe Sylar could be the better person that Maria knew he could be.

He felt a little guilty because in the days following Sylar's supposed execution, he stayed with him in the small cabin, quietly offering what comfort he could through hot soup, tending the fire, or simply maintaining a still presence so Sylar wouldn't feel as though he were alone. Although his physical injuries healed quickly, he knew that the mental wounds the former villain had silently suffered were raw and deep even if he never once even came close to admitting he had any, but he didn't have to- Peter had ways of knowing. It was the way Sylar would seem abjectly anxious every time he left for any extended time and the way he felt relieved yet projected an exterior of indifference upon his return, or the furtive glances he would quickly cast his way as though he had something profoundly personal to say but didn't know how. Sylar didn't know, but for the first few nights he had watched him from the doorway of the only bedroom as he tossed and turned in the throes of his frequent nightmares, softly begging for mercy from an unknown tormentor until the early hours of the morning. During his waking hours he was withdrawn and excessively jumpy, sometimes reflexively throwing him across the room if he accidently snuck up on him or dropped something that made a loud enough noise to startle him. Sometimes Sylar would quietly apologize and other times he wouldn't, but after a week or so Peter decided to try giving him some personal space in the hopes that the quiet woods would serve to calm him. As he became tied up in trying to help Nathan with reconstruction efforts, his visits became more and more sporadic until months had gone by and Sylar had finally contacted him through the same network that Rebel had set up from the beginning to meet him in the middle of the night, and just like the first time he had called for his help after nearly being killed on a mission, Peter came because he asked him to and that was all there was to it. It seemed that for Sylar, the war had never ended.

He came to a stop next to Sylar and looked down with a grim sense of sadness at the plot of loosely packed dirt at his feet. It was the final resting place of Maria. After the official end of the war, Nathan quietly pulled some strings and cleared her name as a traitor, allowing for a proper burial and headstone rather than the shallow grave Noah hastily dug. It was the least they could do for her after all she had done and lost for them. They all had a small service for her to lay her to rest, but Sylar wasn't there. Some speculated as to the reason for his conspicuous absence, but Peter never doubted that thought of her, and his presence in the moonlight was confirmation of that. He knew his former nemesis enough to know that Sylar dealt with things in his own way and that almost always meant that it was done in private. He was not one to grieve publicly or to commiserate with others, but he felt her loss just as keenly as everyone else and a pervasive sense of quiet longing filled the space between them. As he stood there waiting for his companion to make the first move, he wondered if he still felt the same about her death as he did when they learned of it: that every loss was just a statistical probability and had no inherent meaning, but he knew better than to ask at a time like that.

The past year had been tumultuous for Sylar- a certain hell in slow motion that he couldn't find his way out of. He was trying to learn how to live life as a dead man and he was finding that it was much the same as the way he lived while he was running and fighting: trying his best never to be seen if he ever went out at all and existing in isolation. Save for Peter's occasional visits, he had been entirely alone, wandering the trails in the woods for hours by the cabin to try and ease the maelstrom of flashbacks and nightmares he was plagued by. During the war he had witnessed so much, but he kept moving because he didn't have the luxury of self reflection. There was always the next mission to plan and objectives to achieve or simply succeeding in his daily struggle for survival. But now that it was all over, he had nothing but a head full of bad memories to sort through and no way to escape them. He didn't realize just how much it had all taken from him. All the death and destruction was enough to wear anyone down, but incrementally he had become more involved in the rebellion than he wanted to and it cost him more than he could have imagined.

Not just an ordinary soldier, he had become their leader of sorts and as such, he felt a surprisingly crushing sense of responsibility for their welfare. He had initially owned the operations of the war to ensure his own outcome, but only recently had he realized that it was for them as well. They fought just as hard as he did and perhaps risked even more. He just wanted to know that it was all for something and that everything he had gone through had some meaning for them. He wasn't looking for their adoration and he didn't even expect their view of him to change, but he did want to know that the torment that he suffered both then and now had some purpose. He did his duty and he understood the need for him to lay low until the public largely forgot who he was, but that also precluded him from having any part in the country's reconstruction and he went from overseeing every detail to being left out of even the smallest contributions to the effort. He had to leave his fate to people like Peter to rebuild society and determine his future. He felt helpless and he hated it. He was always the master of his destiny and he wondered if he had made a grand mistake in becoming so intertwined with his fellow specials.

Maria believed in him, and he found himself wishing that she were there to remind him again of the man she saw in him, because he could feel himself protectively slipping back into familiar territory. His life used to be relatively simple- he lived as he saw fit, never interacting with anyone too much and not feeling guilty when bad things happened, but that had changed. He felt it after he escaped the system on the coast of England when he wanted to come back to his home, to be a part of something bigger, to have his actions matter in a real sense. He got what he wanted, but he found himself experiencing the downside of human attachment: the sense of abandonment and this was what he had always feared. Anyone who had any relevancy in his life had always gone away. His father sold him, his adoptive father abandoned him, he killed his mother, Angela only pretended to be his mother, Elle only pretended to love him, and the list went on. It was just easier not to feel, not to allow anyone to get that close to him, but despite his efforts Peter and Maria had found a way to slip past his defenses. Maria was gone, but Peter was there as he always had been, and thanks to regeneration, probably always would be in some capacity. He hated to admit it, but through everything Peter was there- to help him, to heal him, or to just quietly stand next to him in a dark cemetery at night. He was the only one he could think of who would have the patience to put up with him even as he struggled to find his place in the new world that awaited.

"So how have you been?" Peter finally asked, breaking the silence between them. "I haven't seen you in awhile."

"I could ask the same of you." He replied. His views on Peter may have changed, but he still had a reputation to uphold in some respect and being stubborn seemed a good place to start.

Peter smiled and shook his head in amusement. He recognized Sylar's sidestepping for what it was. "I'm good." He nodded. "You know Nathan took over the Chimera project after McCaskey resigned. I've kinda been splitting my time between it and working with Emma teaching medical students about treatment for specials. It keeps me busy."

Sylar playfully scoffed. "As if you have any experience."

"Yeah, I know right?" He agreed. "I finally got my license back and the courts have granted full rights to specials, so you can sue me for malpractice now."

A small smirk twisted his lips at the memory of waking up on Maria's table after Peter had stitched him back together. "You did drug me without my consent, but among all the things that were sore when I woke up, my ass wasn't one, so I'll probably just let that one go."

"That's a relief. I had witnesses anyway. Mohinder was in the lab the whole time, he would've vouched for me. You know he works for the Chimera project now, right?"

"No." Sylar blandly admitted. He was a bit surprised that Mohinder would have jumped back into essentially being a company doctor again given his distaste for it.

"Yeah," Peter explained, "he's continuing Maria's work on the S2 antidote. The government isn't supposed to use it anymore, but it's still out there. I think prisons still use it for low level offenders."

"Because people like us are still held in facilities on Level 5's." He grumbled. Although the holding pens had largely been decommissioned, a few were quietly rebuilt but it wasn't exactly a well kept secret.

Peter caught the tone of resigned defeat in his voice. "I know, but not everyone like us has good intentions. I don't like it anymore than you do, but people do have a right to protect themselves. It isn't a perfect solution, but I get it. At least under the new rules, some attempt at rehabilitation is made." Sylar looked at him skeptically. "Matt works on a detainment level himself, so I tend to believe him. Noah's in charge of that now that the slave system has been disbanded."

Sylar let out a desperate laugh. "And you don't see the incongruity in that?" HRG was among the worst offenders when it came to secret interrogation and abuse. It was like letting the fox manage the henhouse.

Peter shrugged lightly. "I would normally agree with you, but the team he oversees is West, Luke, and Claire. Do you really think Claire would go along with anything that resembled unfair treatment?"

"Depends on who it is." He mumbled softly.

Peter sighed quietly. "She doesn't hate you, you know. Not like she used to. We've had many talks and she told me she didn't want to shoot you, but she made herself do it. She didn't want to see you die, Sylar. I think that she and the others finally realized that you weren't the same man we all knew at Kirby Plaza anymore."

"I'm still him." He warned in a low tone. "Just not all the time." He nudged a clod of dirt with the toe of his shoe and quietly added, "I'm not really sure who I am anymore." He felt inwardly torn between his ever present hunger and need for acquisition and his longing for the acceptance he used to feel from Maria and his mother. He knew he could never gain more than minimal cordiality from the others because his past was too dark to allow them to see the potential that she did, but he wanted…_needed_… to feel it again from someone but he had burned all of his bridges and there was no going back. The war hero had no home to return to.

Peter glanced at him compassionately. It must have been hard to have his entire life redefined by a single point in history, but he felt honored in some small way that he would confide his insecurities to him. "Well, it's up to you to define that." He encouraged him. "Don't let other people tell you who you are, be who you want to be. You have a clean slate to work with. Sylar is dead to the world, you can go forward creating a new identity for yourself. That's what Maria hoped for. She wanted you to be happy."

"It's not that easy." He growled in irritation. He couldn't do it by himself. Although it was a daily struggle, he found it difficult but possible to suppress his hunger so long as he had a reason, but his motivation was gone and it was getting to the point that he couldn't control it for much longer. He didn't want to be a murderer, but the monster inside demanded to be fed and it was the primary reason he didn't attend her burial. He didn't want to be around those that he knew he could destroy so he avoided the temptation out of respect for the dead. It would have been all too easy for him to rationalize his actions even as he cut open the heads of his former comrades, but such an act would have been disrespectful to say the least.

"Change never is." He granted. He was resolute in his belief that Sylar could change for the better, not only for himself but it was his responsibility to keep Maria's dream alive. "But I have something that might help you." He dug deep into his pocket and pulled out a metallic object that gleamed in the moonlight. "It was supposed to be yours to begin with, but she would've wanted you to have it."

Sylar reached out and took the warm metal into his hands, slowly turning it and sensing the memories it contained. It was like having her back again and he felt his hunger and restlessness subside as he read the inscription on the gold bracelet meant for him: Gabriel Gray- property of Maria Seigel. From the start he wouldn't have wanted anything to do with the symbol of suppression and subjugation, but over time it held a very different meaning for him. It was a reminder of a fallen system, one under which he both suffered and found some semblance of salvation. "How did you get this?" He asked softly, still stroking the links in the chain as if it were imaginary. "The agents…"

"I snagged it out of her drawer when we went back for the S1." He replied. "I knew she kept it there in her desk. I don't really know why she kept it, but I do know it must have meant something to her." He cleared his throat nervously because he just had to know. "I know that you were special to her like I was, but…"

Sylar paused to raise an eyebrow at his awkward change in direction. "But you want to know _how_ special?" He guessed in a sarcastic tone. "I don't know, how special were you?" He asked mockingly.

"Not like that." Peter denied flatly. It wasn't the first time people assumed something more carnal was going on, but she was definitely no Emily Jessup when it came to assigning tasks to her staff. Sexual gratification was simply never on his to-do list.

Sylar couldn't contain his wicked smile as he shrugged lightly. "Well, she did tell the trader when she bought me that she wanted a _personal_ assistant and she thought I was handsome." Peter's eyes quivered just a second as he contemplated the possibility that his former owner had actually done such a thing. She did tell Tipton that, but she often said things she didn't mean when she had to. Sylar broke out into an easy laugh at Peter's gullibility. "But she didn't, if that was what you were wondering."

"You're such an asshole." Peter gently chided as he smiled, somewhat relieved. "So anyway, Hiro and Ando are having a one year anniversary thing for your death."

"I didn't think they'd be so happy I was gone." He mused. "But didn't you tell them I wasn't really dead?"

"They know. But they said something about the other spirits not knowing and being angry that you weren't honored or something…" he frowned trying to remember the exact reason why he received the invitation to attend, "I don't really get it, but they said it was important. Wanna go with me?"

Sylar scowled down at him. "Was it a +1 invitation? It's rude to invite others to formal functions unless you have permission."

"Ok, Emily Post." Peter laughed. "It might be rude for me to show up with a guest, but isn't it a bigger faux pas to show up to your own funeral?"

He seemed to consider it carefully before jovially asking, "Do you think I should wear black?"

"Don't you always anyway?" He chuckled looking over his companion's attire. "If someone comes out here and sees us, they're going to think we're gay vampires or something."

"For vampires, drinking blood is an almost sexual experience and they feed on men and women alike, so in that respect I think all vampires are bisexual."

Peter was stunned. "Either you just made that up or you've actually spent time thinking about it, but either way it's seriously creepy."

"You're the one who brought up vampire sexual orientation." Sylar reminded him. "But I'm sure even that's a protected class against discrimination. I still can't believe that at one point in our lives, animals had more rights than we did. Furniture and jewelry." He sighed.

"I know things are moving slow, but we'll get there." Peter promised with a determined sense of hope. "Nathan is doing all he can to get some of the laws reversed and off the books. But even if he can't, I believe that Damian and others like him will. It can't be like this forever."

"So Damian went into politics anyway." Sylar smiled. "I didn't think he'd have the stomach to lie and cheat the way Nathan does."

Peter was slightly offended that his brother was insulted, but he couldn't really disagree with him. "Well, he's doing it his own way. Who knows how long he'll be able to stay in the game without lying and double crossing, but so far he's done a good job as a lobbyist. He seems to know how to work a room. Nathan said he's done a complete 180 in terms of confidence and learning to use his natural assets- whatever that means. But he asks about you when I see him. I think you had a pretty profound influence on him."

Sylar shrugged it off as though it were no big deal. "I only taught him how to use his ability. He would have figured it out sooner or later on his own." In truth, he was inwardly pleased that he could steer the young idealist away from the path he had taken. When he looked at Damian, he saw himself and he remembered feeling lost and confused at that stage, and he was glad that he could learn from his mistakes. In fact, in some weird way he felt like a parent along with Peter as though Damian were their son.

A comfortable silence fell between them until Peter got up the courage to ask, "So have you ever seen it?" He licked his lips nervously as though he were intruding on some dark secret. "Your execution?"

Sylar sighed deeply. "No." He whispered as he hung his head. "I read about it and I've been following the news, but I was there and I remember it well enough that I don't need to be reminded."

"Can I ask you something?" He was apprehensive, but he was curious and it had been eating at him. "Why did you ask me to leave you alone in the cell before we went into the room? What were you doing?"

"That was 3 inquiries." Sylar stated a little on edge. "Which do you want me to answer?"

Peter could sense that he was walking on the razor's edge and perhaps getting too close. "Look, if it's too personal for you, then don't answer. I just thought…"

"I wanted to be alone for a minute because I didn't know if I would ever wake up again and I thought it might be my last." He cut him off. Peter had done a lot for him throughout the ordeal and he often did it on blind faith alone. It didn't seem unreasonable to ask for answers after the fact even if it was uncomfortable. "I wasn't certain that the plan would work and I panicked. I'm not proud of it, but that's what happened."

"Jesus man, it's not something to be ashamed of!" Peter shook his head. "Anyone would have had second thoughts. It doesn't make you weak to have a moment of doubt. So what got you through it?"

"Realizing that if I was wrong, no one would care." He replied, looking directly into Peter's eyes. "My only solace was in knowing that my mother and Maria weren't alive to watch it. No matter what I've done, they wouldn't be out there cheering for my death, but I did wonder about my fathers. I wondered if they watched me about to die with any sense of regret or if it was all the same to them since I've more or less been dead to them since I was a young boy."

"I don't know," Peter quietly mumbled, "I don't know your fathers, but if it was me, I'd wonder too. I don't know that mine would care even though I'd like to think he did."

"I think he did on some level, although he had an odd way of showing it." Sylar commented as he glanced sideways at his supposed onetime brother. "Are you angry with me because I killed him?"

Peter sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm not happy that you kill anyone, but even I understand that there are times and situations when it's appropriate. I miss my father even though I know that the world's probably a better place without him."

Sylar nodded gently and glanced down at Maria's grave and her name inscribed next to her husband's. They were finally together and he felt as though he shouldn't be there, as if he were intruding on a private moment. He came to pay his respects and he probably wouldn't return again. He would leave them to rest in peace and hoped that he could maybe find some of his own in time.


	31. Epilouge

**Epilouge**

_I've got to hand it to you_

_You've played by all the same rules_

_It takes the truth to fool me_

_And now you've made me angry_

_I can't decide whether you should live or die_

_Oh, you'll probably go to heaven_

_Please don't hang your head and cry_

_No wonder why_

_My heart feels dead inside_

_It's cold and hard and petrified_

_Lock the doors and close the blinds_

_We're going for a ride_

"_I can't Decide" –Scissor Sisters_

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Sylar casually leaned on the doorframe of the little suburban home- neatly kept with a white picket fence and impossibly lush green lawn and pressed the doorbell with anticipation. He found the Westminster chime to be predictably tacky, but effective at alerting the occupant to his presence. The heavily beveled stained glass door sparkled as the owner opened the heavy oak door with a friendly smile- until she recognized her guest. She tried to slam the door in his face, but he stopped it easily with a small twitch of his finger and he raised his eyebrow mockingly at her weak effort. He waited a long time for this and he wasn't going to leave until he got what he came for. He was a patient man, but he was equally persistent.

"No," Carter gasped in shock as she looked from his face to the name imprinted on the gold bracelet that dangled from the wrist of the arm he was leaning on, "it can't be."

"But it is." He confirmed in a low voice.

She shook her head as if she were trying to wake from a bad dream. "But I saw you! I watched you die and I saw your body."

He shrugged lightly, unimpressed by her assertion. "So did a lot of people."

"So you weren't dead?" She squeaked. "But how…"

"I was…mostly. But you understand that looks are deceiving and sometimes we all have to do what we must to get by." He growled as he gave her a slight shove into the house and quietly closed the door behind him. "You sell me out, I die and come back to life, it all balances out and I'm here to make sure that happens."

She went pale as a sheet when he forced her to sit down in the kitchen with his telekinesis while he poured himself a glass of wine that she was going to have for dinner. "That was a long time ago Sylar." she reminded him in a frightened tone.

He looked around the house blandly, noting the average suburban architecture. "Is there a statute of limitations on such things?" He took a sip of his wine and frowned at his glass. "I guess I can add terrible taste in wine to your list of crimes."

"I have guests coming over for dinner." She said quickly. "They'll be here any minute."

Sylar cocked his head slightly and gave her a chilling grin. "Now you're just being sloppy. I know when you are lying, remember?" He quickly downed the rest of his wine with a wince and added, "Nice try, though."

"So just get it over with, then. You're here to kill me, right? Fine. Get what you came for and go." She demanded, her eyes watering.

He leaned on the counter across from her and peered deep into her very soul with his piercing eyes. "In time, but let's get one thing straight," he suggested, "from here on out we do things as I see fit. You had your turn and you played your hand. Now I get to play mine and I have all night." He gave her a faltering grin that made her heart stop. "Thanks to you, I don't sleep much anymore anyway."

"What I did was wrong." She confessed. "I was starving and scared, and you only tried to help me, I know that now. Please, I know you suffered as a slave- I know that trader did things to you." Sylar's eyes went wide at the mention of it, but she saw her chance. "He raped me too. I'm sorry you were treated that way, that I was responsible for you being there, but we all suffered. At least you went to a farm where you were treated well. Your owner was good to you, mine wasn't."

"And then you killed her." He calmly retorted. "You see, this isn't just about me. I don't think you understand the gravity of what you've done."

"I didn't kill her!" She denied, tears falling from her eyes. "She could have saved herself and I gave her every opportunity to, but she chose to die to protect you!"

"And everyone else she could." He added, pushing himself away from the counter with a sneer. "As I said, it's not just about me."

"What do you want from me?" She cried, desperately struggling against his invisible restraints.

He watched her futile attempt with a blank expression until she wore herself out and quietly sobbed, exhausted and helpless, her hair hanging in wet strings in front of her face. "I want you to know what it feels like." He slowly annunciated, narrowing his eyes in anger and disgust. "I want you to understand the magnitude of your actions in turning on your own kind and destroying one of the few people I respected. I want you to feel the weight of the deaths of all those that fought for you while you sold them out one by one." He leaned in close to her and she began crying harder in terror, but it didn't deter him. "And I want you to face your death as I had to- with fear, uncertainty and always wondering which breath will actually be your last."

"I'm sorry." She gasped between ragged breaths. "I didn't want her to die and I didn't want you to suffer like you did. I wanted to help you, I swear."

He stood up and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms with a skeptical frown. "By storming Maria's house, then ordering the agents to drag me down to the basement and letting them have free reign after I'd been shot? Torturing anyone who might know the slightest thing about me? How exactly was any of that meant to help me?"

"I was going to give you the information you wanted!" She wailed. "I didn't want to kill you, I wanted to help the rebellion, but I couldn't exactly come out and say that, could I?"

Sylar looked down at her and pondered her declaration. Either she wasn't lying, or she had convinced herself that it was the truth. "And why would you do that?" He prompted mildly.

"Because I'm one of you." She sighed, emotionally spent and resigned to the fact that he would probably never believe her. "I tried to help Damian when he was captured. I tried to get them to stop torturing him, but you can't change the system, it's been in place for too long and works too well." She sadly shook her head and weakly smiled. "I talked to him about a month ago. He forgave me even if you never will."

"Good for him." Sylar commended mockingly. "But unfortunately for you, I'm not him. I don't forgive as easily, and as you see, I don't forget either."

"I never read this in your file." She challenged. "You always killed your victims quickly, you didn't play with them for your own sick satisfaction."

He gave her a relaxed smile as he rummaged in the refrigerator and settled on some sliced cheese. He chewed thoughtfully before answering, "When you're being shot at with S2, you have to move fast- no time to stop and smell the roses, really." He lamented. "But for that, you have to go back to the older files, the Company stuff you probably didn't have access to. Too bad, you might have liked the Walker case." He slowly strolled around the kitchen, nibbling on his cheese and reminiscing. "It was some of my early work, and in retrospect a little hasty, but I was still learning the craft. Fast forward to the Jessup case and that was a work of art." He paused to glance at the block of knives on the counter. "Sharp objects make great projectiles, although I've found that ordinary objects like paint brushes will do. It's kind of my specialty."

"I've seen some of the old files." She confessed. "I watched the experiments they did on you."

"Learn anything?" He asked dispassionately. He wasn't surprised that the tapes still existed and he didn't care that she watched it, she probably had worse in mind for him if she was ever able to actually catch him, but that wasn't going to happen now so he had no reason to react.

She looked up at him and saw him as something very different. He wasn't simply a thrill killer, for one brief moment she understood his motivation given what he'd experienced. In some skewed way, it only seemed a natural reaction. "I learned why you became what you did." She replied in a soft and small voice. "You weren't always this way. You were a normal man- scared, confused, and pushed beyond your limits."

He paused in his tracks as though he weren't expecting her to make such an honest observation even if it did seem as though she were trying to placate him. "Maybe," he admitted quietly, "but that was then and we all know we can't change the past."

"It wouldn't have mattered." She laughed. "They would have found you eventually, they always do. You couldn't have hidden your extraordinary ability for long, no one else is like you, can do what you do."

"You'd be surprised what I can do, necessity sometimes dictates discretion. But it would be closer to the truth to say that there aren't many like me."

She seemed surprised. "You mean there are more?"

Sylar scoffed at her apparent lack of logic. "If I exist, there in all likelihood are more. I know of at least one."

"Mills." She sighed. "Pasternack or Burke, whatever his name actually is. I knew it! He was with you when you raided the Virginia facility and it was him in North Dakota. He looked so familiar, but I couldn't prove it." She seemed bitter about the whole experience, which brought a small smile to Sylar's face. She was so close to getting her man, she might have actually foiled the entire plan. "I knew his conveniently showing up and bagging you was too good to be true."

"I let him." He confessed with a wicked grin. "Even with his abilities, he couldn't have caught me without my consent." At least he thought it improbable, but he never really could count Peter out entirely if he was properly motivated.

"Did you meet him at Maria's farm?" She asked curiously. "Luke told me about him. He must be Claire's uncle as well. Now it all makes sense." She shook her head. "It was right in front of me the whole time."

Sylar's eyes grew dark and he tilted his head in agitation. He knew that Luke was the one who gave up Maria's name but he also knew that it wasn't exactly voluntary, so he understood that the betrayal wasn't malicious. He wasn't even concerned about Peter's welfare because he could more than take care of himself should Carter come looking for him, but it was the mention of Claire's name that drew his ire. True Claire technically could have withstood anything Carter chose to do, but that wasn't the point. In the year since the end of the war, he hadn't spoken to her directly, but he got the impression that she was trying her best to move forward with her life as well as she could given all that she had experienced during her time on the battlefield and he felt strongly that it was her right to do so unimpeded. She worked hard for a sense of normalcy that he never seemed to be able to find and she deserved whatever small sliver of happiness she managed to carve for herself in her new life. Even though it was a foregone conclusion that Noah would not have hesitated to make her disappear under mysterious circumstances in the blink of an eye if he thought his daughter's life was in danger, he was going to make sure that the dubious agent never had the chance to darken her doorstep in the first place. He and Claire certainly had their differences, but he was not about to allow her to suffer in some deep, dark hole like he did in the name of scientific progress. It wasn't mercy on his part or any kind of admission of camaraderie, but it was prudent to remove any threat to all that they had fought for. "Was there anything else you wanted to know?" He asked in a chillingly cold tone. "Never let it be said that I'm not merciful."

The air between them buzzed with tension and anticipation. He was done toying with her and she knew it was all about to be over the moment he raised his hand. Her eyes filled with tears as she made her last desperate plea for leniency by appealing to his sense of logic. "You respected Maria enough to avenge her, that's why you came. But is this what she would have wanted?" She asked sincerely. "She was a pacifist. She tried not to cry when she watched you being tortured on the tape, she didn't want to see anyone hurt."

He paused and his eyes flickered with something that she couldn't define, but whatever it was he felt it keenly and it stunned him into indecision. "She watched it?" He whispered hoarsely, obviously upset. It was one thing for someone familiar with the system and jaded by it to see what had been done to him, but Maria would have been horrified by the brutality so casually on display.

Carter slowly nodded in affirmation, seizing on her chance when his impenetrable armor momentarily cracked. "And she saw all of your victims, including crime scene photos of her husband. And she _still_ forgave you. Now you have the opportunity to follow her example. I'm begging your forgiveness, Sylar. _Please_," She quietly implored, "give me the forgiveness you got."

He looked down on her, torn between contempt and the knowledge that he had indeed been given a rare gift. Everything in him wanted to exact revenge, to allow him to in some small way atone for allowing her to fall into Carter's clutches because the guilt ate at him still. But it wasn't entirely the agent's fault that she wasn't alive, it was partially his own for not following his well honed instinct and as much as he wanted to lay it at the feet of Carter, he knew he was just as much to blame as she was. Yes she had sold him into the system, but how was that different from almost everyone else he had known who betrayed him? The war had shown him that even bitter enemies could be trusted friends given the right circumstances and at the very heart of it all lie the fact that knew unequivocally that Maria wouldn't have approved. It was against all that she wanted for him, but he couldn't live his life for anyone much less a dead woman. As he stood there facing the helpless and desperate woman, he had a decision to make. He could allow her to live or give in to his innate desires. He could travel the familiar road or he could forge a new path and create a new future for himself.

A sense of calm focus fell over him when he settled on a solution. He folded his arms across his chest and a smirk slowly graced his full lips as his deep eyes hardened with purpose….

O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O

**A/N: And so we have reached the end of this totally unplanned sequel…lol. I will leave it to you to decide for yourselves if he gave into his predatory nature or found it in himself to walk away, but I thank you all for reading along and appreciate those who left reviews- it helped shape the course of events and provided encouragement. Happy holidays! **


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